


Get Your Head in the Game

by LillianDeLooney



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (mild) Homophobia, 5+1 Things, Adopted Stiles Stilinski, Alive Hale Family, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Bets & Wagers, Childhood Friends, Coming Out, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, England (Country), Football Player Derek Hale, Football Player Stiles Stilinski, Football | Soccer, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hurt Derek, Hurt Stiles, Jealous Stiles, M/M, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Pining Stiles Stilinski, Roommates, Stiles Stilinski & Jackson Whittemore Friendship, Stiles and Jackson are related, Summer Camp, based on the book HIM
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-07-11 14:49:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7056901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LillianDeLooney/pseuds/LillianDeLooney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let’s watch some porn.”</p><p>And that sentence right there is the reason I singlehandedly ruined our friendship.</p><p> </p><p>Or: ‘5 Times they made things complicated and 1 time they finally uncomplicated it’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I recently realized that *gasp! * I didn’t have any books about gay relationships, and after a bit of research I bought this book called ‘HIM’ by Sarina Bowen and Elle Kennedy and OH MY GAWD you guys it was totally amazing. I read it in two days because I just couldn’t put it down and had so many feels and Jesus just GAH. So you’re probably wondering where the hell I’m going with this. Well, I have been wanting to write a fic about sports for ages, and this book was also about sports and I loved it, and reading this book created a very persistent plot bunny that refused to leave me alone, so then this fic happened. With football (as in soccer) instead of hockey, because I’m clueless about the latter and grew up in a football-playing family so know slightly more about that. So there.  
> Also the plot is based on that of ‘HIM’, so all the credit to that wonderful book that everyone needs in their lives. Shutting up now. Happy reading!

_[Quick reminder that when I say football, I’m talking about soccer, not American football or whatever. No idea where the term got mixed up for you Americans (and wherever else you use it), but football is the right name for it (and makes much more sense, let’s be honest) and I’m sticking with it._

_Btw, this is probably going to be way too long for a simple 5+1 fic. *Shrugs* You guys don’t mind, do you?]_

 

 

 

 

#1 – _Elites Football Camp,_ _four years ago._

 

**Stiles**

 

Six weeks a year, during the summer holiday, Derwentwater is the place I call home. It’s located in the Lake District in England, near Keswick, where I stay at an all-boys training camp called _Elites_ , which offers a top-notch football programme for promising players for the duration of the summer. Against a price, of course, but once parents realize their kid has a shot at going pro in the future, money isn’t really an issue anymore. Unless people really can’t afford it of course, but that has never been an issue in my so-called ‘family’. But let’s not get into that just yet.

I have been coming here every summer since I was thirteen. Now I am eighteen years old, and I can honestly say that I spent the best weeks of my life in this place. Like I said before, it’s home. Not just because this place is one of the most beautiful places you’ll ever see. Not even because I get to spend six whole weeks doing nothing but play football, training with outstanding coaches to get the best out of myself and guarantee my future career, although that is obviously a big factor.

No, the most important reason why this place means so much to me, is my roommate.

Derek Hale.

The same guy I have been rooming with since we were both thirteen years old. The same guy that is my best friend, even though we only see each other six weeks a year. The same guy that I have been crushing on for a little over a year now.

Too bad that Derek is about as straight as they come.

I used to think I was too. I’m a fairly attractive guy, and like every teenaged boy, I loved the attention it got me. I inevitably experimented a bit, kissing girls, making out for a bit. But it just wasn’t . . . doing it for me. Now _boys_ on the other hand, those were doing things alright.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not ashamed of liking guys. I’m gay, one hundred percent. But that doesn’t mean I like to flaunt it. Playing professional football and being gay just aren’t a good match. It is what it is. So I had this huge revelation, but I wisely kept my mouth shut.

Even to him. _Especially_ to him. Derek, that is. He might have been the reason I figured out I’m into men in the first place. He definitely helped the process along. You can’t blame me, though. If you could see the guy, and knew him like I do, you’d be crushing on him too, no doubt about it. He’s tall, slightly taller than I am, with thick, soft, dark hair, beautiful eyes that reflect the colours of the sea, and a healthy amount of muscles. He’s a brilliant goalkeeper, one of the best young talents I’ve ever seen around here, and when he’s playing he _owns_ that goal.

He’s perfect.

So of course I have to go and royally screw things up between us.

 

#

 

**Derek**

I can’t believe I was stupid enough to sneak out of the lodge with Stiles tonight. Well, I _can_ , because somehow he always manages to make me agree to whatever crazy escapade he comes up with, but still. So stupid.

Right now, we’re both slightly drunk from the illegal alcohol we consumed – Stilinski knows a guy, don’t ask – and we have to sneak back inside unnoticed. The light on the front porch of the lodge is still on, and unfortunately so is the light in our camp director’s room. Usually, Bobby Finstock is a great guy. If you decide to break one of his rules, though? Not so much.

“You think he’s still awake?” Stiles whispers, squinting as if it will help him see what’s going on in Bobby’s bedroom.

“Gee, I don’t know,” I whisper back with a roll of my eyes. “Do you usually sleep with the lights on?”

He huffs. “Shut up. He might have just forgotten to turn them off or something.”

Or something. That’s right. God, why do I always let him talk me into these things? If Bobby finds out about this, we’re going to be in so much trouble. It may seem a bit weird for an eighteen-year-old boy to care about that, but you haven’t met our camp director. I have no desire to find out what punishment he’ll come up with for us if he finds us out here. Especially since we’re both a bit drunk and still very much underage.

“God Stilinski, why do you always bring me into these things?”

“You could have just said no, Hale,” he points out.

_Touché._

Our room is on the first floor of the lodge, so we decide to sneak back in through the side and climb to our window to get back inside unseen. If everything goes well, that is. Knowing us, it probably won’t. Not that it’ll stop us from trying.

We quickly make our way over to the side of the building, still without a lot of noise. Without needing to be asked, I lean against the tree that is conveniently placed near our window. I squat down a little and cup my hands so I can give my idiot of a friend a boost so he can hoist himself on one of the branches. In return, he takes my hand when I climb up the tree myself to drag me on a branch close to him. After five years of sneaking out, we’ve pretty much got it down to an art and it’s done in barely any time at all.

Without any warning, I hear the front door open as someone steps out onto the porch. We both freeze, holding our breaths and trying to make as little sound as possible. After a painfully long minute, the footsteps retreat and the door closes again. I stand up carefully, seeing Stiles doing the same beside me, and we cover the distance between the tree and the window, finally getting our asses back inside our shared bedroom.

Once we’re both safely inside, I turn my gaze toward him and find him already looking at me. As if on cue, we both burst out into uncontrolled laughter.

“Holy shit,” I chuckle when I’ve calmed down a bit.

He snorts and shoves my shoulder good-naturedly. I pull him into a headlock in retaliation and give him a noogie, my knuckles rubbing over his buzz cut. I let him go with another laugh and we both fall onto our beds, both turning on our backs and looking at the ceiling. I sigh.

“I can’t believe there’s only one week left,” he mumbles.

“God, I know right?”

These few weeks of training camp every summer always seem to be over so fast. It’s the same every year, yet I never seem to stop being surprised by it. This year it’s even worse, more final somehow. At the end of the summer, we’ll both be going to university, starting the next chapter of our lives. It’s new, and exciting, and _scary_ , but I’m so fucking ready for it.

“We should do something to celebrate or something,” I suggest with a yawn, turning my head to the side only to find my best friend already fast asleep, drooling all over his pillow. I let out a fond laugh and close my eyes.

I still remember our first year at Derwentwater. To say that our friendship had a rocky start would be an understatement. Like every other boy did when he first got here, I thought I was one of the – if not _the_ – most talented football players of my age. It never takes long for the boys here to realize that they’ve been thrown into a pool of guys just as talented as they are, and I was no different.

Stiles, however, remained an arrogant little bastard. He’s a winger, and I have to admit that even at thirteen, he was an astonishing player. He’s insanely fast and capable on the pitch. He might be kind of a spaz in general, but when he’s on that pitch, it’s like he flips a switch or something. He becomes completely focused on the game and on doing what he does best. He definitely knows how to score and if he can’t he makes sure someone else will. It drove my younger self insane, especially that first year, still does from time to time to be honest.

Even though I had to admit that the kid was crazy talented, at thirteen I was way too proud and stubborn to actually say it out loud. Plus, he was really good at making my blood boil, always keeping me on edge. Whenever he managed to get a ball past me, which was more often than I care to admit, he would get this cocky smirk on his face. And then he’d say something stupid like ‘Gotta work on those reflexes, Hale’, even though he and I both knew my reflexes were impeccable. It was infuriating.

So yeah, we had a rocky start. We provoked each other, spent every minute trying to get on the other’s nerves. Unfortunately – or maybe fortunately, in hindsight – we shared a room since day one, so we had to get along eventually or Bobby would have sent our skinny asses right back home. The man tries to teach his campers some values, and good sportsmanship might just be the most important one.

Over time we developed a kind of mutual respect for each other. It never stopped us from taunting and teasing each other, but at least we were civil. Well, except for that one time we had this huge fight our first year here. Looking back, that might be what truly marked the beginning of our friendship. We were in our room at the time, after practice and I’d been having a bad day. He’d been a menace at practice and was still goading me about it, so I snapped and made some nasty comment about his parents raising him like a asshole or something and he just . . . shut down on me. Like the words had been a physical blow or punch to the gut.

Feeling guilty for putting that look on his face, I asked him what was wrong, and at first he tried to ignore me. I insisted he’d tell me though, and we finally opened up to each other. That’s when he told me about the death of his parents. He’d lost his mom when he was seven, and his father had died in the line of duty, less than a year before our first camp. He was adopted by the Whittemores, his aunt and uncle from his mother’s side. Football was a thing of him and his dad, so he’d begged his uncle to let him keep playing. I’ve never met the guy and Stiles doesn’t talk much about him, but what I do know is that he’s an ass and Stiles can’t wait to make his own money so he can get away from the man.

Back when Stiles confessed all this to me, I told him he could be my family instead. I come from a big family and only have sisters (five of them, which is way too many, even though I love them to death). I always kind of wanted a brother, or at least another man in the family, so thirteen-year-old me didn’t even hesitate to invite him into the crazy Hale pack, as we’ve come to call ourselves.

And just like that we became friends. If it’s up to me, it’s going to stay that way for a very long time.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

It’s the second-to-last day of our summer at Elites. For whatever reason, I can’t seem to stop thinking about what’s going to happen after we leave. Everything is going to change now that we’re both going to university. I don’t know what it is; nostalgia, desperation, just for old time’s sake, but I find myself challenging Derek to a shootout.

“You and me, Hale,” I say when we’re the only ones left on the pitch after that morning’s practice. “We each get five shots at goal, what do you say?”

“What, now?”

“Yes, now! It’s the last day of practice.” I juggle the ball with my feet, playing keepie-uppie and I decide to taunt him a little. “Unless you’re too scared to take me on, of course. Can’t blame you if you are, considering you lost the last one . . . and the one before that . . . aaaand the one before – ”

“Are you done?” he huffs, glaring at me. I fight to keep in a chuckle.

I shrug. “You in or not?” Upon seeing the look of confliction on my buddy’s face, I add: “Not for beer this time.” Dude’s got no job, five other siblings and already owes me two six-packs. I know he doesn’t really have any money to spare.

“So what are we playing for then?”

I hum and pass him the ball. He’s probably expecting me to come up with something completely ridiculous, like doing a lap around the pitch walking on hands. Or crawl into a fridge. You know, the kind of stuff I usually come up with. That’s not what comes out of my mouth, though. Instead, I say something that will surely earn me a special place in hell.

Just as he’s about to shoot the ball, I reply: “Loser gives the winner a blowjob.”  

Derek misses the ball.

I cackle, throwing my head back in glee. Man, I love messing with the guy.

“You’re insane,” he states.

“Ooh, someone sounds a little unsure of himself.” I already mentioned I’m going to hell, right?

He sends me another glare and I raise one of my eyebrows, daring him to take the deal. Part of me is still surprised when he does. The other, larger part is beaming in victory.

“Fine. You’re on.”

“Perfect,” I grin. “How about I kick your ass after lunch today?” I shoot the ball, aiming for the net, but Derek is there before the ball reaches it. Damn it.

“Don’t get cocky yet, Stilinski,” he smirks, tucking the ball under his arm. “You haven’t gotten a single ball past me yet today. If I were you, I’d prepare myself for some _serious sucking_.”

Oh boy. Little does he know that that scenario would be a fantasy come true.

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

As promised, me and Stiles have a shootout after lunch. It’s just like him to challenge me again like this. To give himself a chance to win from me one more time before we leave and return to our normal lives. And also to create an opportunity to rub another loss in my face. _If_ he wins. As I told him before though, I’m in great shape today. I’m not letting him win and I sure as hell won’t go down without a fight.

Even though I have to admit the prize is a little weird. I seriously don’t know how the hell he even came up with that one. Then again, it’s Stiles. I don’t think anyone will ever understand how that guy’s mind works. It’s a scary place.

The only reason I agreed to this bet in the first place is because I get to hold the fact that he owes me a blowjob over his head if I win. Which I’m pretty confident I will. There’s no way I’ll actually make him blow me, but the possibility of being able to tease him with it is just way too good to pass up.

As I take my position in front of the goal, I take a deep breath. Shootouts are tricky, but they’re especially tricky against someone like Stiles. We’ve been doing this so many times I’ve lost count. And yes, I lost the last couple of times, but that doesn’t mean I’ve never won from him. I’ve won plenty of times. I know his moves; I can _anticipate_ his moves. As long as I remain focused and don’t let him get to my head. Which, unfortunately, is easier said than done.

Stiles rolls the ball onto the penalty spot and wiggles his eyebrows at me. “You ready for this?”

“Shoot.”

“Oh, I sure will after you suck me.”

See what I’m talking about? I shake my head with a roll of my eyes and motion for him to start. I laugh gleefully after I stop the first three shots.

“Didn’t I warn you not to get cocky yet?”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response and puts the ball back on its spot, wasting no time to take his next shot.

It flies past me, right into the net.

“AND HE SCORES!” he crows, doing a little victory dance.

“Isn’t it a little soon for that?” I ask as I throw the ball back in his direction.

“It’s never too late to change the game, Hale.”

He’s not wrong. His next shot is successful as well, and the smile it puts on his face is ridiculous. He’s such an idiot. Sometimes I really don’t know why I’m friends with the guy. We switch positions and I watch him settle in front of the goal. He’s not used to being in that position, and it shows. Granted, I’m not used to standing on this side of the goal either, but I know I have a reasonable chance at winning this.

The first two shots find the net easily. With the next two, Stiles seems to have found his rhythm, because he stops both of them. One shot left. I can see the fear in his eyes, the insecurity. I think about the prize, about how much fun I’ll have holding it over his head for an undeterminable amount of time and smile. I shoot.

And I score.

“Ohooooh!” I laugh, doing my own victory dance to mock him. He throws my goalkeeper gloves at my face in retaliation.

I let him sweat for a couple of hours after that, until after dinner and the final game we play every year with the campers of our own age category. Stiles is quiet through it all, which is so unlike him that I decide to let him off the hook once we’re back in our room.

It is the last day of camp and, as I will learn later, also the last day of our friendship.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

When we get back to our room, my entire body is tingling with anticipation. I know this is a probably my worst idea ever, but I’m known for my bad ideas anyway. Got to live up to that reputation. I’m fully aware of what I’m doing here. I know that I’ve kind of manipulated Derek into this blowjob, but I _want_ him damn it. And this is probably the only chance I’ll ever get.

Then my perfect, way-too-good-for-me best friend decides to ruin my fantasy by saying: “You know, I think I’m gonna take a rain check on that blowjob. Maybe I’ll use it next year, celebrate us being back here.”

Disappointment floods through me, but I manage to keep a straight face and don’t give it away. God, he probably thinks he’s doing me a favour. I shrug and walk over to my bag, rummaging through it and then holding up a flask of alcohol.

“Cheers to that.”

I take a couple of gulps of the whiskey I filled the flask with and hold it out to him. He takes it cautiously, brows slightly furrowed as he looks at me.

“If Bobby finds out about this, I’m gonna kill you.”

I snort. “Like he’s not doing the same thing right now?”

The corner of his lips tick up, but he doesn’t let the smile grow. Not until I do a goofy expression of a drunk Bobby, anyway. Derek laughs and almost chokes on the whiskey, which earns me another one of his glares. I chuckle. God, if I got paid for every time I’ve received that look . . .

“So aside from the alcohol, how do you wanna celebrate our last night of camp this year?” Derek asks.

It’s then that I utter the sentence that I will regret for a long time in the future. Now though? My entire being is convinced that this is a _terrific_ plan.

“Let’s watch some porn.”

And that sentence right there is the reason I singlehandedly ruined our friendship.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some light dub-con at the end; Stiles coaxes Derek into a blowjob, and gives him alcohol when Derek tries to get out of it. The blowjob happens (not written yet, but there will be flashbacks in future chapters); neither of them is really drunk, and if Derek told him to stop Stiles totally would have, but I wanted to warn you guys anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Excuse me if any stuff about BUCS Big Wednesday and English university football in general is wrong, all my info comes from either the internet or my imagination ^-^ I’m also pretty sure they don’t show it on TV, but we’re going to pretend that they do.  
> The dub-con warning from last chapter also applies in this one, to the same situation, this time in more detail.

 

#2 – _Present Time, March, BUCS Big Wednesday_

 

**Stiles**

 

Me and Jackson are walking across the Durham University campus together and making heads turn left and right. We share a look and grin, soaking up the attention. At this moment in my life, I would probably call Jackson my best friend. At first he was just my cousin and we didn’t really get along, but when my dad passed away and the Whittemores adopted me, I quickly found out why the guy always acted like such an ass. My uncle is a domineering, intolerant ass, and definitely in the run for the worst-parent-of-the-year award. My aunt is a typical trophy wife and isn’t much better as a parent.

It’s something me and Jackson bonded over, our hatred for the guy. The man is trying to dictate the way we live our lives and it’s the literal worst. The only reason I’m on board with his plan to make me a pro football player is because that’s an actual dream of mine. Jackson though? He basically told his father to go fuck himself when the man wanted him to follow in his footsteps as a lawyer. Instead, he’s getting a degree in journalism. His dream is to one-day write about a huge scandal concerning his father to absolutely ruin the man’s reputation. God knows there’s enough material to write about. The evidence may be a little hard to find, but if anyone can find it, it’s Jackson.

We both play varsity football for Durham, and while Jackson isn’t as passionate about the sport as I am, he’s still a surprisingly good player. He’s a striker and I still play as right winger, and we make a pretty good team. Coming Wednesday, we play our biggest match of the season. It’s called BUCS Big Wednesday, a major sport event for universities with a wide variety of sports to compete in. Since a lot of us are graduating this year, our team is determined to win the title.

We pass a group of freshmen girls, giggling and trying to be subtle (and failing) about fangirling about the two of us. I’m pretty sure neither of us knows them, but we’re wearing our football shirts, so of course they immediately recognized us. One girl steps up to us, a determined look in her eyes. She’s beautiful, even I can see that, with a petite frame, strawberry blonde hair and bright green eyes.

She walks up to us in her stiletto heels and shows us a pearly white smile. “Well hello there, boys.”

The girls behind her either gasp or giggle again, and I let out a quiet snort. Jackson just gives her a polite smile.

“You boys ready for the big game on Wednesday?”

“Sure are,” I tell her, adding a wink because why the hell not? “We actually have an appointment in the screening room in a couple of minutes, so I’m afraid we can’t stay to chat.”

“Shame,” she says, pouting her lip. To a straight man it probably looks seductive, but I just find it kind of ridiculous-looking. “Anyway,” she continues, stepping closer to Jackson and right into his personal space to stuff a piece of paper in the back pocket of his jeans. “That’s my number. You should call me.”

The girls behind her are speechless, greedily watching them to see what happens next. The girl steps back, leaving Jackson with the beginnings of a blush on his cheeks and a slightly confused look in his eyes. I raise an eyebrow at her in amusement.

“Where’s my number?”

She raises her eyebrow right back at me. I decide that I like her. “I wouldn’t mind giving it, but we both know you don’t really want it.”

I grin and nod my head. “Fair enough.”

Jackson still seems to be out of words, so I roll my eyes and throw an arm around his shoulders, nudging him gently so he starts to walk again.

“Guess we’ll see you around,” she says and smirks. I nod.

“Sure, I guess we will.”

“Good luck Wednesday.”

“Thanks, doll,” I grin as we pass the group of girls and that finally seems to drag my friend out of his stupor.

“Doll? Seriously?” he asks me, looking mildly disgusted. I shrug, ruffling his hair and laughing when he pushes me away from him. “It’s a good thing you’re gay, because there’s no way you’re getting any girls using names like that.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

We both chuckle and Jackson nudges my arm. “So who was that guy you corrupted last night? Me and Kate saw you two leave the club together last night.”

“Excuse me,” I mock-gasp, earning an impressive eye roll from my friend, “I did not corrupt anyone. The guy came on to me, not the other way around.”

Jackson narrows his eyes at me. “Are you sure about that? He looked pretty straight to me.”

I grin, looking smug as I remember last night. “Trust me, he wasn’t.”

Jackson scrunches his nose up and jokingly shoves my shoulder. “I don’t want to know. Besides, it was just a one night stand right?”

I hum. “Obviously. You know I don’t do relationships.”

He rolls his eyes again. “Yeah, I know. You need to ‘focus on your career’,” he imitates my voice – badly – using air quotes.

I shrug, because it’s true. I do need to stay focused and a relationship is just not something I have time for right now. And I’m not even getting into the mess it would cause if people saw me dating a man. Jackson obviously knows, and he’s the only one I discuss my sex-life with. The team knows too, but we don’t talk about it or anything and I’m more than fine with that. To the rest of the world though? I’m still very much in the closet. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for my career.

I frown, suddenly realizing something. “Did you just mention Kate?”

He shrugs, looking a bit guilty. “Yeah, I wasn’t answering any of her text so she came to find me at the club.”

That woman is crazy, I’m telling you. Super controlling, and clingy, and just giving off overall psychopathic vibes. Unfortunately, I’m the only one who seems to be able to see it.

“She’s acting like the two of you are fucking married or something.”

“Well . . .”

“No,” I beg, halting my steps so I can turn around and look at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me, Jackson. Please tell me you’re not thinking about marrying her.”

“No,” he sighs. “But I know she wants me to ask her.”

Oh for the love of God. He should have gotten rid of her ages ago, seriously. I nod my head for a moment. “Wanna know what I think?”

“Not really.”

“ _I think_ that you should dump miss crazy-pants and call the pretty freshmen girl instead,” I tell him, slapping his butt where the piece of paper is still hiding in his jeans. He tries to swat the back of my head, but I duck in time to avoid it, laughing as I start walking again.

“Just think about it,” I say as we enter the building. “You seriously deserve someone better.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighs. Soon after we reach the screening room and step through the open door, joining the boys that are already there.

“Good morning, ladies,” I greet my teammates, accepting the high-fives and bro-hugs from those who offer them, Jackson doing the same behind me. We both take a seat and soon after coach Gabriels enters the room, signalling for us to be quiet.

“Alright boys, let’s start by going over the things you need to work on,” the man begins. I have a hard time trying not to drown him out completely. It’s not as if I don’t know what I need to work on. I’m one of the guys on the team that is actually serious about their career. I always know what I did wrong during a match and I don’t need coach’s help to start berating myself for it.

I might give a cocky attitude to pretty much anyone, but honestly, that’s just a pretence. In actuality I am more of a clumsy, awkward idiot, but I’ve always believed in the whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing. I’m so used to disappointment by now that it’s easier to keep up a front. Derek is the only one who knows about that part of me. Or knew, I guess. Well, and Jackson probably does too, because he’s doing the exact same thing.

Coach starts the DVD player and starts showing us a clip from the last match of Loughborough.

“Uhm Coach? Are you sure this is the right clip?”

It’s a valid question, seeing as how we don’t even play our next match against them. The man tells us that our next match shouldn’t worry us too much, though. The match we should be worried about is the one against Loughborough. Coach is clearly worried – which, thanks for the vote of confidence there, buddy – but after watching a few minutes of the clip, I understand why he might be intimidated by the team.

“Look at their goalie,” the man says. “He’s in perfect shape. He barely ever lets a ball get past him. I’d be in awe of the guy, if he weren’t on the opponent’s team.”

I continue to study the young man on screen and I find that my heart is suddenly lodged in my throat. There is something that seems familiar about him. That’s when coach says his name, but I don’t need him to anymore.

It’s _Derek Hale._

Also known as the guy who used to be my best friend. The same guy I pushed away without an explanation four years ago. Shit. How did I not know he was the goalie of one of our toughest opponents? I feel like I should have. It certainly would have prepared me better and wouldn’t have left me feeling like the ground was cut from under me as I do now. Because this means that we’re going to see each other again. More than that, we’re going to be playing against each other.

I have to admit that I panic as soon as that realization hits me. I immediately start imagining how our reunion will go, and frankly I’m quite worried about it. What if he hates me? Will he even want to see me? Let alone speak to me? It’s not like I can blame him if he doesn’t.

Coach is talking about Derek’s weaknesses and I know all about them. I used to know this guy better than I knew myself. But I don’t speak up. I can’t tell anyone, even though there’s so much at stake. I may know his weaknesses, but I am also very aware of my own. I’ve had the same weakness since I was sixteen years old.

My weakness is _him_.

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

 

“Do you have any plans for today?” Paige asks me when she comes out of the shower. We have this friends-with-benefits thing going on and since it was late last night, I didn’t mind if she stayed the night. She’s probably one of my best friends and I’m perfectly happy with our current situation, I know that she is too. Well, I hope so at least. We don’t exactly talk about it, mostly because for me there is nothing to talk about. Sure, I love her, but not like that. Besides, we’re graduating soon anyway.

“Yeah, I have a meeting with the team in about an hour,” I tell her. BUCS Big Wednesday is coming up and our coach wants us to be ready for the competition, so he’s been showing us some clips to analyse. I’ve thought a lot about them, but not for the right reasons.

Even though Paige and I aren’t in a relationship, she knows me really well and can tell when something’s bothering me. This time isn’t any different. She climbs on the bed and sits next to me, gently laying a hand on my knee to get my attention.

“What’s on your mind, Der?”

I decide to tell her. It won’t hurt, she might actually be able to give me some much-needed advice. I sigh and start talking.

“There’s this guy . . .” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise and I snort, shaking my head. “God, not like _that._ No, he uh . . . he’s the star player of one of our opponents. His name is Stiles Stilinski. We used to go to summer camp together.”

“Elites? The one you’re coaching at now?”

I nod. “Yeah, we met when we were thirteen. He was my best friend throughout my teenage years and I only saw him once a year. We got up to so much crazy stuff together,” I trail off, sighing wistfully at the memories.

She smiles. “Sounds like you two were close.”

I huff. “We were. Until we weren’t. Our last summer there we – ” I stop myself there, unwilling to share those particular details with her. It didn’t mean anything anyway. I continue with a sigh. “He just stopped talking to me after that. I tried to contact him a couple of times, but all I got was silence. I still don’t know why and honestly? It pisses me off.”

And it does, even after all these years. I’ve gone through college without him and I did fine, but him cutting me out of his life the way he did hurt. He never even gave me an explanation. I still think I deserve one, hell, I still _want_ one. Or hey, an apology would be nice too. Now I’m going to see the guy again and I’m just not sure how to feel about that.

I glance at the clock and see that it’s time for me to go. I get up, but Paige stops me with a hand on my arm.

“Are you sure you need to go already?” she asks, and only now do I realize that she’s completely naked. Damn, I must have been really lost in thought to miss that. I bite my lip, tempted. I really do have to leave if I don’t want to be late, though.

“Yeah, sorry.” I give her a quick kiss. “You can let yourself out, right?”

Her face falls a little and I pretend not to see it. Then she smiles and shoos me away with her hand. “I’ll be fine.”

I step out of the door without looking back.

Since I don’t live on the Loughborough campus, I take the underground to reach it. We use one of the classrooms for our meetings and I walk through the building on autopilot. I’m the last one to arrive and am surprised to see coach Petit (don’t let the name fool you, the man is a literal giant) is already ready to start. He must be really nervous about the competition.

Boyd claps me on the back when I take a seat beside him and sends me an easy smile. “Hey man.”

I grin back at him and then redirect my attention to the front of the room, where coach is asking for us to shut our mouths and focus. We’ve already been over most of the teams, but today he has a clip of Durham for us. Stiles’ team.

My eyes immediately zero in on the guy who I once considered to be my best friend. Coach is talking about how good he is and I remind myself that I should be listening.

about how good he is and I remind myself that I should be listening.

“See that winger right there?” the man asks, pointing at Stiles on the screen. “He’s a fucking machine on the pitch. Ridiculously quick on his feet, barely ever loses the ball, moves like freaking _lightning_ , and he has a single-minded determination to score.”

That doesn’t really bode well for me. Not that I really needed him to spell it out for me like that. I’ve always been perfectly aware of how good of a player Stiles is. Though I have to say I am a bit in awe with the way he plays right now. He certainly hasn’t gotten any worse over the years. He has changed in appearance, though. His hair is longer, grown out from the buzz cut he used to have. It also looks like he finally grew into his own body.

I remember how we used to call each other last names as taunts, always trying to get under each other’s skin. The memory brings a small smile to my face before I can stop it. Once again I think about what it will be like to see him again, this older version of him. I wonder if more than his looks have changed. I’m not sure if I really want to find out, because that means I’ll have to talk to the guy.

And I’m just not sure if I’m ready for that.

 

#

 

**Stiles**

We arrive at Sheffield Hallam – the university that’s hosting BUCS BW this year – late afternoon on Tuesday. First we have to go through registration, all of us showing our ID and checking in, but after that coach Gabriels finally rounds us up to check in to the hotel we’re staying at.

“Do you smell that?” Jackson asks as we enter the lobby, throwing an arm around my shoulder.

I raise one of my eyebrows at him. “Smell what?”

“The scent of our future victory.”

I snort. “Quite confident there, aren’t we?”

“I can feel it Stiles, this is gonna be our year.”

“You know what?” I ask, pouting in consideration. “I think you might be right, my brother. Let’s show those assholes how it’s done.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear!” One of my other teammates cheers, coming up behind us. “Boys won’t know what hit them!”

We graduated from a motel to an actual hotel this year and the hotel we’re staying at is surprisingly fancy. We all get a twin room, for starters, but the hotel is also equipped with a lounge, bar, swimming pool, restaurant, and various other facilities. Not that we’ll have much time to use any of them, but still. It’s nice.

Another group of people enters the lobby behind us, so coach makes us move to the side so he can assign us a room per duo and hand us the key. Since me and Jackson are obviously rooming together, we are quick to receive ours. Coach tells us about a list of rules we need to adhere to, but my mind starts wandering. I blame the ADHD.

I watch the newcomers in the lobby. They all seem to be boys of my age, so there’s a big chance it’s one of the other football teams. My eyes travel over the group, surreptitiously checking them out. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to have a little extra fun while we’re on this trip.

Naturally, that has to be the moment my eyes land on Derek.

Shit, our teams are staying at the same hotel? He hasn’t noticed me yet and I’m really hoping it stays that way. I take the opportunity to check him out and I’m not disappointed. The guy has seriously grown up nicely. Not that he’s changed that much in the past four years, but he’s definitely left his boyish charm behind him. Standing on the other side on the lobby is a _man_ , in every sense of the word. His cheeks are covered in dark stubble and my fingers are itching to touch it. Same for those shoulders, Jesus. His impressive waste-to-hips ratio has become even more defined since I last saw him.

Good looks aside, I’m actually overwhelmed with how good it feels to see him again. Still doesn’t mean I want Derek to see me yet, though. Jackson must notice that I’m starting to act shifty, because he nudges my shoulder and asks me what’s wrong with the look on his face. I shake my head and drag him out of there, suddenly struck by an idea.

“Fancy telling me where we’re going?” he asks.

“Gift shop.”

I know I saw one on the way over here. I want to find it again so I can buy a gift for Derek. Jackson steers me in the right direction without me needing to ask him and we step inside the shop only a few minutes later.

“And who are we gift shopping for?”

“. . . An old friend,” I mumble, already looking around for something I can give him.

Jackson sighs, clearly fed up with having to drag the words out of me. “Does this friend have a name?”

I clear my throat self-consciously. “Derek Hale.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” he says, holding up his hands. “You mean Loughborough’s epic goalie? That Derek Hale?”

“Yes, okay? We used to be friends at Elites. I have something to make up to him.”

“Right,” he nods. “So what are we looking for then?”

I think about it for a moment and smile when a perfect idea comes to mind. “Something with wolves.”

“Wolves?”

“Yeah, it’s a family thing,” I explain. “They call themselves the Hale pack. He and his sisters always joked about how they were raised by wolves and stuff. Derek will get it. Oh, and I also need help finding a box.”

“Why are we finding you a box?”

“We had this . . . tradition,” I tell him. “Because we only saw each other during the summer, we would send a box back and forth with stupid gifts inside. I’m sure you must have seen it at some point.”

He nods. “Yeah, I think I remember that. You were always pretty secretive about it, though.”

“It was personal,” I shrug. “I remember the first time I sent him the box. It was for his birthday and I bought him this ridiculous jockstrap that looked like an elephant.” Jackson snorts and I chuckle at the memory. “Then I got it back, no note or what, just filled to the brim with blue skittles.

Jackson makes a face of understanding. “Ah, so he was fuelling your addiction.”

“I do _not_ have an addiction,” I object mock-offended. “It’s not my fault the blue ones taste way better than every other colour they offer. Besides, blue’s just pretty. For the first couple of minutes I didn’t even touch the things, just stared at that beautiful see of blue skittles. It was pretty epic. When I eventually finished the skittles about a month later I sent the box back, though I don’t remember with what.”

Jackson makes a face again. “So why exactly did you tell me this story again?”

I shrug. “No reason. Just reminiscing about the good ol’ days.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Your face is ridiculous.”

“It’s okay buddy, I’d be jealous too.”

I punch his shoulder and he laughs. “Shut up.”

We eventually manage to find everything I need and after I ask her for it, the girl behind the counter hands me a card to add to the box. I quickly write down my message to Derek and make her add another card to the top of the box with his name on it. Satisfied, me and Jackson return to the hotel.

“So now what?” Jackson asks when we enter the lobby again.

“Now I need you to put that pretty face of yours to good use and follow my lead.”

We step up to the front desk and send the girl behind it two charming smiles. With the two of us ganging up on her like this, flirting like our lives depend on it (and hey, mine might), she really has no other choice but to agree to give me Derek’s room number. I thank her profusely and take the elevators to the right floor while Jackson heads to our own room.

I’m going to leave the box in front of Derek’s room and then I’ll wait for Derek’s reaction before I try and talk to him. It may be a bit cowardly of me, but I just need to know where we stand first. I need to know if I even have a chance to make things up to him, to take back what I did four years ago. If Derek is willing to forgive me – and I wouldn’t really blame him if he won’t – then I’ll do everything in my power to fix our friendship.

After all, I might not get another chance again.  
  


 

#

 

**Derek**

It’s Tuesday afternoon when we check into the hotel. Tomorrow is the big day and I have to admit that I’m pretty nervous about it. Even though I’ve already been scouted by Everton and am welcome to come play for their team after I graduate, that doesn’t mean I can afford to slack off. To be honest I feel like I need to prove myself even more.

“Alright listen up!” Coach Petit yells to get our attention. “The rules: I want all of you to be in your rooms by 10, no alcohol, and you better make sure you get enough sleep because this is a very serious tournament and I want to win this damn thing so help me God!”

This isn’t the first year I play BUCS BW with the team, so I don’t take the rules too seriously anymore. I know their mostly there to make sure the freshman’s don’t get stupid ideas into their heads and get drunk. It doesn’t help the team if players are hungover on the pitch tomorrow.

I won’t say no to a good night’s sleep, though. Since it’s supposed to be a quiet night, me and Boyd go up to our shared room right after we receive our key and we stop in confusion when we reach it.

There’s a box in front of the door.

“Did your sisters send you another care package?” Boyd jokes.

I feel my cheeks heat up. “Shut up. Besides, who says it’s for me anyway?”

“Um, the bright blue letters on the top saying ‘Derek Hale’?” my teammate deadpans.

I do a double take and sure enough, there my name is, neatly written on the top in handwriting I don’t recognize. Well then. That’s not weird at all.

“Seriously, what the hell . . .?” I trail off. I briefly wonder if my sisters really did send me a care package (I wouldn’t put it past them), but that wouldn’t really make sense. I stare at it warily and suddenly my mind hits me with a memory of Stiles screaming ‘what’s in the box?!’ in mock-terror after watching a certain episode of _Supernatural_. After which we’d gotten into a heated debate about _Seven_ , the movie the quote was originally from.

Boyd picks the box up and tosses it at me. I look at it again. Could it be . . .? That would mean that he’s here . . . _Oh Jesus_.

Boyd goes inside and I follow him. My friend putters about the room as he gets ready for bed, while I sit on one of the two available beds and open the box gingerly. The item inside has me frowning. “What the . . .”

I hold up the pair of boxers I found inside, little wolves printed all over them. There’s a card inside too, one word on it in an awfully familiar handwriting this time.

_AROOO_.

I snort a laugh. Christ, it really is him.

“Do I even want to know?” Boyd asks.

I shake my head. “It’s an inside thing, don’t worry about it.”

“Who’s it from then?”

“Paige.” I’m not sure why I just lied about that.

“Yeah, I really don’t want to know.”

Boyd gets into bed and I wish him a good night, staring at the box again. Just like that I decide I need to talk to him. Hell, it’s about goddamn time we talk. On a whim, I check if I still have his number and when I do, I send him a text.

_[I see you haven’t lost your terrible sense of humour.]_

Then I wait. He probably won’t even answer. It’s highly unlikely he still has the same number after four years. I stand up and get ready for bed myself. Before I slip under the covers, I check my phone one final time and see that I have a reply after all.

_[Don’t pretend Hale, we both know you love my sense of humour.]_

I huff, smiling despite myself. I make a snap decision and text him back.

_[I think I’m gonna get a drink before bed, wanna meet up?]_

_Already at the bar_ , he texts back. I’m not even surprised. I quickly change back into a shirt and jeans, but leave my glasses on because my eyes are too irritated for my contacts right now, and then I go downstairs. I enter the bar, and it’s not hard to spot the group of football players taking up a couple of tables in the back. I find Stiles and the guy turns his head as if he can feel me watching. Our eyes meet and I gasp softly. He really has changed.

His muscles are more defined than I remember. Also more than I can remember seeing on screen when reviewing Durham’s matches. I’m more surprised by the light stubble on his cheeks, not nearly as thick as my own, but there all the same. I think it suits him. He also has deceptively broad shoulders, so I guess he really did grow into his body. Yet as I look at him, I still see the same guy from four years ago.

Stiles’ face lights up and he motions for me to join him and his teammates. Okay, so we’re not doing this privately then. I’m actually kind of relieved by that. It takes some of the pressure away. I make my way through the crowd and when I reach the guy’s side, the first thing out of his mouth is: “You need glasses?”

I roll my eyes skyward, then tell him in a deadpan voice that, “No, they’re a fashion statement.”

Stiles laughs. “Damn, it’s good to see you again.” He squeezes my shoulder briefly, then introduces me to his teammates. “Guys, meet Derek Hale. We go way back.”

“Wait, aren’t you Loughborough’s goalie?” One of them asks. And then another says: “What the fuck Stilinski, you fraternizing with the enemy now?”

Stiles chuckles and puts his hands up in innocence. “Hey, it does mean I know all his weaknesses. If there’s anyone who can get a goal past him, it’s me.”

I seesaw my head, pouting in consideration. “If memory serves me right, _I_ was the one who won our last shootout,” I point out. “You’re not the only one who knows about weaknesses.”

Something is happening in Stiles’ face, but the expression is gone too quickly for me to decipher what it is. His teammates laugh at Stiles’ expense and return to their own conversations, leaving me and him in a somewhat awkward silence. We’re saved by one of the waitresses dropping by, offering us all a drink and shamelessly flirting with Stiles.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asks, cocking out a hip and all but putting her body on display for him. I snort and our eyes meet, Stiles’ eyes crinkling in amusement. He’s clearly enjoying the woman’s attention. Derek can’t blame him, she’s fucking hot.

“I’m good. Thanks, doll.”

I make a face at him when she’s gone. “Doll?”

One of his teammates turns around and points a finger at me. “Did I just hear you ridiculing my brother?”

“Brother?” I frown. Stiles doesn’t have any siblings as far as I know.

Stiles introduces us. “Derek this is my cousin Jackson. His dad is the uncle who adopted me.”

Oh. I almost want to apologize to the guy, but I manage to refrain from doing so. I don’t think either of them would be happy to talk about what an asshole that man is. Not that I’ve ever met him, but I’ve heard enough stories of Stiles to know what I’m talking about.

“Yeah, no worries though, I wasn’t threatening you or anything. We’re actually on the same side. Seems like we’re one of the few people who know how to handle this guy.”

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that Stiles was blushing at the words. “It’s not so much handling him as being able to put up with him, honestly,” I say.

“Hey!” Stiles lets out indignantly, making me and Jackson laugh.

“I like you, Derek,” Jackson tells me. “You can stay.”

My eyes meet Stiles’ again in an unspoken question that neither of us has an answer to yet.

I can stay. But will I?

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

I’m in a freaking brilliant mood. We’ve won all of our matches so far and have played our way to the final. The only thing that would make my mood even better is if Loughborough wins their match as well. Me and a couple of my teammates are watching it as we speak and it’s excruciatingly exciting to

see them play against each other. The two teams are tied right now and there is not a lot of time left. I have faith in Derek, though. He’s got this.

I watch him, trying to figure out if he’s really as calm as he looks. Probably not, but I have to admit he hides it well. My eyes are glued to him, and it scares me how much I’m still into him. I was supposed to get over him, but the past four years of distance between us has done nothing to stop my heart from wanting him. I watch Derek pull off a great save and cheer inwardly. The rest of my team doesn’t want Loughborough to win, too scared to face Derek. I can’t really blame them, he’s a goddamn pro in the goal. Fuck, I really want him to win. I want to stand in front of that goal again, just me and him.

My mind flashes back to the last time we faced each other on the pitch. The shoot-out from four years ago. The moment I said “let’s watch some porn.” I wasn’t even drunk, not really. Just horny as hell. I knew I was an ass for saying it, but I did it anyway since it was the only way I could have him. Even if it was just that one time.

I loaded up my favourite porn site and clicked on a random video. We were both watching the screen, neither of us touching ourselves yet, settling back against the pillows on the bed. The woman in the video was sucking the man off, moaning wantonly as he slid a hand into her hair and grabbed it tightly, starting to fuck her face.

It wasn’t doing much for me, since by that point I was completely aware of the fact that I was gay and women didn’t even interest me anymore, but it was clearly doing things for him. I could see Derek was hard, his athletic shorts hiding next to nothing. He caught me looking at him and grinned at me.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you blow me just yet. I like the thought of holding it over your head for a little while longer.”

“What, you think I’m too scared to do it?” I asked, fishing for a different answer. “Think I was bluffing?”

– “YES!”

I’m startled back to the present when everyone goes up in cheers around me. I look up to the scoreboard and see why. The other team scored. _Fuck_ and I missed it. There’s still some time on the clock left, but even though I want it to be, I know it’s not enough for another goal. A few minutes later it’s made official when the ref blows his whistle at full-time. Loughborough loses and I think I might be feeling as bad about it as their team does.

Guess I won’t be playing against Derek after all.

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

I lost. We were doing so well and then three minutes before full-time we have to go and fuck it all up. No one is blaming anyone, but I’m sure blaming myself. I should have stopped that final shot. If I had just been a little bit sharper, just a tad faster to dive, I would have caught it.

Someone cuffs me on the back of my head and I whip my head around to glare at the culprit. Boyd. Of course it’s him.

“Cut it out,” he says.

“I wasn’t even doing anything,” I grumble.

Boyd gives me his patented ‘are-you-shitting-me-look’ and I sigh. “It’s not your fault man, stop blaming yourself.”

I tell him I’m fine, but it will probably be a while before I believe it myself. I’m happy my family wasn’t here to see it. Well, they probably saw the game on TV, but still. We go back to our room and Boyd lies down on his bed with a bone-deep sigh.

“What’s up?” I ask him, because that was a cry for help if I ever heard one.

The guy groans. “It’s just . . . this was my last match ever, you know?”

And that’s right, we’re graduating soon. Somehow I keep forgetting about it. Or maybe I’m just refusing to realize that life at university is almost over. Even though I have been scouted by a Premier League team, not everyone is so lucky. Most players are actually starting their adult live in a few months, working some boring desk job or another.

I ask Boyd about the job he’s mentioned a few times, and we talk about it for a bit but I can tell his heart isn’t really in it. The mood is pretty glum after that.

“Hey, you wanna get drunk?” I offer. The guy deserves it.

“Thanks man, but Erica and my sister are already on their way to take care of that.” I’m glad to hear that. “You can join us if you like?”

I shrug and tell him I’m not sure yet. “You know,” I muse, “it’s unlikely I’ll actually get to play for Everton. I’m only a third string goalie. I’ll probably be a bench-warmer for the entirety of the season. Then I’ll have a job I love, but won’t get a chance to actually do it.”

“Adulting sucks,” Boyd agrees.

He leaves soon after that and I decide to stay in the room for a bit. I honestly don’t really feel like going out. I watch some TV; mindless reality shows that annoy the crap out of me but somehow always manage to grab my attention for a couple of minutes until I realize I wasted precious minutes of my life watching that shit. It always leaves me cranky. I startle out of my thoughts when there is a knock on the door. I get up, expecting one of my teammates, but my jaw drops when I see who’s behind it.

“Paige?”

“Hi there, hot stuff,” she greets me as I let her enter the room with an impressive eye roll.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Surprising you, obviously.”

She ruffles through a bag she brought with her and I smirk when she gets out a few different bottles of alcohol and mixing equipment. She works at a bar near campus, so she definitely knows what she’s doing. I haven’t failed to notice that she has all the ingredients to make my favourite drink.

“Is that what I think it is?”

“You bet it is, cutie,” she winks at me. “I’m gonna make you the best strawberry daiquiri you’ve ever tasted.”

They always taste the same, but I don’t tell her that. I love them anyway. It’s secretly my favourite drink, girly as it may be. That stuff is fucking delicious. After we’re done with our first drinks, she picks up a strawberry and puts it between her teeth. She moves in and I close the distance between our mouths, biting off the other end and letting my lips brush against hers in the process. I swallow the piece of fruit and go back in for another kiss.

Fuck she’s a good kisser, definitely knows what she’s doing. She crawls into my lap and I let her, putting my hands on her hips and pulling her closer. Her arms wind around my neck, one of her hands roughing up my hair. She grinds down on me and I can feel myself getting hard already.

I move my hands to her ass and encourages her to keep going by squeezing her cheeks. Her hands start to travel and find their way under my shirt, trailing over my abs. I sigh into it, loving the feeling of her soft hands on me. I’m about to take off my shirt, when there’s a knock on the door. We both groan.

“Hale!”

I thought it was one of my teammates first, but I know that voice. It’s been haunting my memories for four years.

“Maybe he’ll go away if we keep quiet,” Paige whispers, teasingly ghosting her fingers over my nipples. I think about it, because God knows I’m horny right now, but I’m also curious about what Stiles wants. I don’t feel good about just ignoring him, not now we just got back a tentative friendship.

“Sorry,” I say and gently push her away so I can get up. She huffs but doesn’t say anything.

I open the door to find Stiles. His eyes immediately fall on Paige and I see him take in the way we look, his eyes widening in understanding.

“Oh, sorry I – ”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” I tell him. “This is Paige. Paige, meet Stiles.”

She smiles at him. “You want a cocktail?”

“Ah no, that’s alright, I just wanted to say I’m sorry we won’t be playing against each other in the final.” He shrugs. “Would have been cool.”

“Yeah, just like camp.”

“Do you miss it?” he asks.

“I work as one of the coaches there every summer, actually.”

“Oh, cool.”

Paige comes up to us then, handing me another drink and plastering herself to my side. I’m not sure if I like it or not.

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” she asks Stiles.

His face is blank when he shakes his head, and I’m unable to gauge his emotions. Once upon a time I would have been able to see right through it, but it’s just been too long.

“Well, I’ll see you later I guess.” He walks away and I feel stricken. My team leaves later today. We won’t even watch the final anymore. There’s nothing left for us to do here. It’s very unlikely I’ll see Stiles again before we leave. And if I don’t, I’m not sure if I’ll ever see him again at all.

I’m not sure how I feel about that either.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

We’re playing the second half of the final match and my body is running on pure frustration. Not because we’re losing, we’re not. No, I’m frustrated because frustration is the only thing I’m letting myself feel right now. I’m suppressing every other emotion and use the frustration as my drive to win this fucking match.

It’s working great so far. I steal the ball whenever I see a chance to, then shoot it at goal with deadly precision or else make sure I give a perfect assist. So far, we’ve scored three times. The other team didn’t manage to score at all. We’re _crushing_ them.

It doesn’t take much longer before the referee blows the whistle to signal full-time and I stop running, slowing to a jog before standing still altogether and wiping the sweat off my face with my shirt. Jackson jumps on my back and plants a wet kiss on my cheek and I grin, letting the applause and cheers of the crowd wash over me. We won. I feel like I should be happier than I am right now.

After a shower and a celebratory bottle of Champaign, we go back for the trophy ceremony. I’m there physically, but mentally I’m somewhere else completely. We end up at a bar to celebrate after that. I feel off and I know exactly why, but refuse to admit to myself why because that will only end in pain and depression. So instead I plaster on a smile and act like nothing’s wrong and like I’m just as happy as the rest of the team. I do a couple shots with them and soon I’m pleasantly buzzed. My teammates don’t notice anything wrong with me, but Jackson sees right through me and I hate him a little bit for it.

“What’s going on with you?” he asks, expression worried even through the haze of the alcohol.

I know he won’t believe me if I answer with ‘nothing’, so instead I tell him that I don’t want to talk about it. It’s true. Jackson gives me a look, but agrees to let it go. I sigh in relief and ignore everything but the music and chatter around me. A beer or two later, Jackson gets on my nerves when he casually mentions Derek.

“Is he still here? Maybe he can bring a real smile to your face.”

I doubt it. God, I’ve been so stupid. I thought that maybe, just _maybe_ there was a chance that – well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve always known he was straight (though it never kept me from hoping),

but being confronted with the fact that he apparently has a _girlfriend_ is just not something I was ready to face. What’s even more frustrating is that it made me realize just how big of a crush I still have on the guy. I need to get over him already. It’s pathetic. I’ll never have him the way I want to.

With that depressing thought I stand up, proclaiming I’m going to get another drink. I need something stronger, something that will really get me wasted and help me forget Derek for a moment. I take a seat at the bar and wait until the bartender is free. I watch the wall behind the bar, filled with endless bottles of alcohol. My eyes are drawn to a bottle of whiskey. Just like that, my mind flashes back to _that_ night.

We’d been drinking whiskey then, too. “What, you think I’m too scared to do it?” I asked him, fishing for a different answer. “Think I was bluffing?”

He took a few more sips of the whiskey before he looked at me. “I know you well enough to know that the word ‘bluffing’ isn’t part of your vocabulary.”

I snorted and accepted the flask when he handed it to me, taking a good gulp myself. “So true.”

I wanted him to make good on our bet, though. I wanted to touch him so bad, could feel the desire running through my veins and making me just _want_. We were both hard and Derek was shifting on the bed a bit. I bet he wanted to do something about his erection, but didn’t want to make it weird.

Well, I could do it for us. I was known for my bad ideas after all. I mustered up the courage and plunged right into the deep end.

“Mind if I start jerking off?”

His eyes met mine in surprise, and he waited a beat before he answered. “No, yeah, sure. It’s not like I’ve never seen you naked before.”

_Never like this though_ , my mind supplied, but I kept my mouth shut. Instead I put my hand in my boxers and started to slowly jerk myself. I let out a soft sigh, glad to finally get a hand around myself. I was so hard it hurt. I heard Derek gasp beside me, and I sneaked a glance at his face. What I found there knocked the breath right out of me.

He was _aroused._

Not by what he saw on the screen, but by looking at _me_. In fact, neither of us was looking at the screen anymore, both of us fixed on the movement of my hand tugging on my dick in my boxers. Derek’s hand travelled to his own dick, squeezing himself through the material of his shorts.

“Go ahead”, I told him. If he was as hard as I was, he must have been seriously uncomfortable by then. After a moment of hesitation, he did. He whipped his dick out, just like that. As if it was nothing, something we did all the time. It so wasn’t, though. I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. Fuck, I wanted him so bad.

The video on my laptop stopped and I pounced before Derek had the chance to move to pick another one. “You sure you don’t want to claim that reward?”

“You sure you’re up for it?”

_Oh fuck yeah._ Again, I didn’t tell him that though. Instead I shrugged and said: “I guess we’ll find out.”

He waited a beat, then let out a breath and licked his lips. “Well, go ahead then. Blow me away.”

I snorted at his unintended pun. Then I gently removed Derek’s hand from his dick and replaced it with my own. And _holy shit_ I was finally touching his dick. I started stroking it leisurely, relishing the moment. I wanted so much more, but I didn’t want Derek to panic, didn’t want him to push me away. So what I said instead was:

“Damn, I think I’m drunk.”

Derek was quick to agree. “Yeah, me too.”

Blame it on the alcohol. I could feel Derek finally start to relax, settling back against the pillows and letting his legs fall open a bit more. Then he surprised me by opening his mouth and saying: “Thought you were going to blow me, Stilinski.”

_Stilinski_. He only called me that when he was deliberately taunting me, the asshole. At that moment though, it only made me want him that much more. I moved so I was between his open legs and pasted a cocky smile on my face, making sure I looked confident instead of like I was freaking out. Which I was. Though not for the reason Derek would have thought I was. I just didn’t want to screw this up. I wanted to make this good for him.

I lowered my head and took him in my mouth, surprising him when I almost swallowed him down to the root.

“Jesus Christ”, he bit out, sounding breathless.

I hummed and slid back to just the tip, teasing him for a bit with my tongue before sucking on the head. Derek groaned. “Fuck, how do you manage to annoy me even during this?”

My shoulders shook in silent laughter and I released him from my mouth, moving lower so I could suck his balls into my mouth instead, my hand returning to his dick, now slick with my saliva.

“Mother _fucker_.”

Derek was boneless now, completely giving himself over to the pleasure coursing through his body. I loved that I was the one who was the cause of it. One of his hands ended up in my hair and he steered my head back to his dick, clearly wanting me to continue sucking him off. I was happy to oblige. I moved faster now, one of my hands massaging his balls and he made a choked-off sound.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me come.” I hummed around his dick in agreement, kept going until he was coming in my mouth and I –

I’m suddenly back in the bar when someone lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you okay?” a man I don’t know asks me, worried eyes glancing over my face.

“Yeah, sorry, just lost in my head for a moment.”

“I could see that.”

How long has this guy been watching me?

“So what are you doing here?”

“Uh, celebrating actually. Just won a varsity football tournament.”

“Ah, football huh?” He lets his eyes wander over my body, clearly checking me out. “You any good?”

He’s obviously talking about more than just football, and I take a moment to check him out as well. Dark hair, broad shoulders, artful stubble. He reminds me of a certain someone and I feel nauseous all of a sudden. I smile, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes.

“I guess,” I shrug.

“I’m Alex,” he introduces himself and I shake his hand.

“Stiles. Sorry, but I gotta get back to my friends.”

I make my way over to the team, but what I really want to do is get out of here. Screw it, I _am_ getting out of here. I make up some excuse, tell them all goodnight and make my way through the crowd until I’ve finally reached the door. I step outside and take in a big lungful of the fresh air. Normally I would have never said no to a guy like Alex. I just can’t stop thinking about Derek today. What if I never see him again? I know he and his team weren’t there to watch the final today. What if they’re already gone? Last night would have been the last time I spoke to him. I don’t even know where he lives these days.

I do know something else, though. I get out my phone and scroll to the number I haven’t used in four years. Not that the man hasn’t tried to contact me. Guess that Bobby will finally get his wish granted this summer. I hesitate with my thumb over the screen, then I slide it back into my pocket, deciding I’ll call the man tomorrow.

It’s stupid and I’m probably going to regret it, but I just don’t want to lose Derek again. I know I can’t have him the way I want him to, that’s painfully obvious now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want him as a friend. I want him any way I can get him. I just need that man in my life. Even if it breaks me in the end.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, sorry this took so long guys, but I had exams so sadly I had to prioritize for a bit. However, I’m finally free for the summer and am planning to push myself to write every day, so hopefully I’ll manage to get the next chapter out much faster. For now, let’s celebrate the start of summer with a nice long chapter ^-^

 

#3 – _June, Elites Football Camp (week 1)_

**Derek**

 

I’m standing at the entrance to Elites and take a deep breath, smiling as I look at the familiar sight before me. It is so, _so_ good to be back here. For some reason it always feels like these couple of weeks I spend at Derwentwater are what I’m waiting for the rest of the year.

I walk up to the main lodge and enter the building, taking in the smell of wood and home. My feet take me to Bobby’s office without thinking, so familiar to this routine that I can do it on autopilot. I knock on the door and peek my head inside.

Bobby looks up and grins at me. “Derek Hale,” he beams. “Damn, you never stop growing, do you?”

I’m pretty sure I haven’t grown an inch since I started working here, but I decide not to mention it. Doesn’t really matter either way.

“Hey Coach,” I greet him back, accepting the man’s firm handshake and pat on my shoulder. “How have you been?”

“Eh, well enough,” he replies. “Definitely starting to feel my age, though. Sometimes I really wonder why I still put myself through this every single year.”

I huff in amusement. “You love us.”

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway, you should head to the trainers’ lodge, get settled in.” He hands me the keys to my room, the same one I’ve had the past couple of years, and I tell him thanks and that I’ll see him later.

Once I’m in my room, the first thing I do is dump my duffel bag into a corner and spread out on my bed unashamedly. I sigh and take a minute to revel in this moment. Sometimes I wish I had a roommate, there is another bed available in the room for just that, but I can’t help but feel lucky either.

After another minute or so, I get up and open my bag and get my laptop out, setting it on the desk and turning it on. I promised my family I would skype them when I arrived today, so I’d better do that now I still have the time.

I look out the window as I wait for my laptop to boot up, glad to see that the weather is still nice. Given that this is England we’re talking about, that’s definitely something.

When my laptop is finally ready, I open Skype and check to see if my family is online. I really shouldn’t be surprised to find that they are. And not just the family account, oh no. Every single one of them is online, God knows why.

There’s my parents, George and Talia. And then my oldest sister, Lena. After her come the twins, Ivy and Lily, then Laura, then me, and finally Cora. They’re all rugby fans, making me the odd one out in both gender and sport. Don’t get me wrong, rugby is great, but it will never have a chance of beating football in my opinion. That my family refuses to see that is not my problem.

The husbands of the twins are both rugby fanatics as well, and one of them still plays, though not on as high a level as I do. My sisters like playing rugby too. Even though they come across so sweet and innocent they are all total bad-asses and I seriously feel for the men in their lives. Myself included.

I start a video call with the family account and wait for them to accept it. As expected, it doesn’t take long at all and before I know it my screen is filled with the happy faces of my family. They barely fit inside the frame of the camera and I wonder how long it will take before they start fighting over it.

I laugh at their enthusiastic greetings and give a short wave. “Hey you guys. Long time no see.”

“Ugh, I knooow baby,” Laura whines dramatically and I laugh. It’s only been four days. I had to go back to my apartment to get the last of my stuff for camp, but before that I spent a week at home with them.

“You’ll survive,” I assure her, grin still firmly on my face.

“How’s Bobby doing?” my dad asks.

“Good. Says he’s thinking about retiring early, but I’m pretty sure we all know that’s never going to happen.”

My mother laughs good-naturedly. “Not unless he absolutely has to, no.”

“So,” Lena drawls, elbowing Laura so she can fit herself and her pregnant belly better in front of the camera. Laura starts protesting, but she just waves it away with a wink in my direction. I chuckle and shake my head. “How’s Paige doing these days?”

What?

I repeat, “What?”

“You know, _Paige_ , that nice girl from university you told Laura about?”

I glare at said sister, and she shrugs innocently. “Oops?”

Ugh.

“Ooh, good question though,” Ivy nods. “Is she going to visit you there?”

I frown. “Why would she do that?”

My family lets out a collective sigh and they all send me raised eyebrows in true Hale fashion. I roll my eyes right back at them, used to this type of behaviour by now.

“For the last time, I’m not dating anyone. Paige and I are just friends.”

Cora smirks. “Sure you are.”

Sisters are the absolute _worst_.

 

#

Two days later I’m already accustomed to the rhythm of camp and coaching. It surprises me every year how easy it is to get back into it. Maybe it’s because I have been here every summer since I was thirteen, or maybe because I love coaching so much. Whatever it is, I’m glad for it.

The goalies I’m coaching are currently on the pitch, alternating their turns in the goal, while I coach them from the side-line. I turn my head away from them when Bobby appears at my shoulder.

“Hey Bobby, what’s up?”

“Nothing serious, I just came to tell you that you’re going to have a roommate this year.”

“I am?” I ask, surprised. “Did you find an extra coach this year?” I know that we could use more coaches, so it would definitely be a good thing. I’m only going to be here for the next six weeks, then I have to go to training camp with my teammates-to-be from Everton.

He nods. “Yeah, listen –”

There’s a shout from the pitch and my head whips in the direction it came from, assessing the situation. I sigh when I realize I’m probably going to have to intervene soon. One of the goalkeepers I’m training is Remi Carter. He’s a brilliant goalie, but like most of the teens I’m coaching he’s very impatient. On top of that, Carter also has a short temper that’s super frustrating to deal with. I know he has potential. I just need to find a way to let the boy believe it himself. Watching him on the pitch right now, I’m clearly not doing a very good job.

He and another player – one of the strikers I think – are yelling at each other and I hope it’s not going to go any further than that, but to be honest that’s probably wishful thinking on my part.

Bobby clears his throat, a smile curving his lips. “You know, they kind of remind me of two other players I used to coach.”

I huff. “Don’t even start.”

“Yeah, I kind of have to,” the man mumbles and I turn to face him, frowning.

“What does that mean?”  
  
Bobby is about to tell me, but gets interrupted again by more commotion on the pitch. The same two boys are yelling again and it looks like they might be getting into a physical fight soon. I immediately join them on the pitch so I can put a stop to it.

“Come on,” striker-guy taunts at my goalie, “You can’t take a joke? You’re such a sissy.”

Before I get a chance to stop him, Carter kicks the ball at the other boy, purposely aiming at the stomach. The boy briefly doubles over and I wince, knowing it must have hurt from such a short distance. I blow my whistle to get their attention, absolutely furious.

“You two, bench, right now!”

“I didn’t even do anything!”

“I said _now,_ Lewis,” I snap, finally remembering the striker’s name. 

“You’re not even my coach!”

“Then find your offensive coach and spend your time-out with him. And you better show him more respect than you just showed me.”

Lewis sulks off and I huff in annoyance as I watch him go. Bobby lays a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll handle him,” he says, nodding in Lewis’ direction. “You figure out what the hell is going on with our goalie over there.”

I nod and walk over to Carter. He’s still standing in the goalmouth, arms crossed and looking murderous.

“Care to tell me what that was about?”

“Are you saying this was my fault?!”

I suppress a sigh. “No Carter, I’m asking you to explain the situation to me.”

“That ass –”

“ _Language_.”

“– That _guy_ ,” he huffs, “Always has it out for me. He has been doing it from the moment I arrived and it’s driving me freaking _insane_. I already told him to cut it out, but he just refuses to listen!”

“Okay, so I’ll make sure you guys won’t play against each other for a while, give you some space. I’m sure you two can work it out together.”

He snorts. “Yeah, that’s not going to work.”

“How come?”

“Because guess what? We’re roommates!”

I can’t help it, I laugh. Maybe Bobby had a point. “Look, Carter, I get it okay? Guys like Lewis, they think they’re invincible on the pitch and act even worse when they encounter a player on their level or higher. Trust me, if he’s been giving you a hard time he probably just feels intimidated.”

That earns me a small grin.

“But,” I continue, “That doesn’t mean you should get angry whenever he’s taunting you, because that won’t solve anything. It will only encourage him to keep going. So get back in that goal and get your head in the game.”

“Huh.” He nods slowly. “Deep shit. Good advice though, I guess.”

It was Stiles’, actually. We may have made a game out of driving each other up the wall, but when it counted we were there for one another. In the rare moments where we played on the same team and I would grow frustrated with myself after letting in a goal, Stiles would be there to shift my focus back on the game, where it should be. “Only dwell on the things you can change,” he would say. “If you can’t, _get your damn head back in the game._ ” I sigh wistfully. They were good times.

“Thanks Coach.”

Ahw, this right here, this is why I coach. Something warm bursts inside my chest whenever someone calls me Coach or Coach Hale. Or whenever I see progress, see them taking my advice to heart and do something useful with it to get better. It’s exhilarating and I love every moment of it.

 

#

 

Life at camp as a coach isn’t much different from camp as a player, aside from the obvious. There are some perks and benefits, though. More free time, getting payed, less rivalry and more comradery. It’s nice.

On my way to my room, I walk by the tree and the window I shared with Stiles. I pat the bark on the tree with an affectionate smile on my face when I walk past it. My current room is still on the second floor, which I’m glad for, because the view is absolutely breath-taking. I can see the lake from there and both the sunrise and sunset are a spectacular sight to see. Unfortunately, my body needs a healthy amount of sleep, so I don’t get to see them too often. Still, it’s nice to know I have the option.

I climb the stairs and fish for the keys in my pocket. Once I reach the hallway my room is located in, I freeze when I’m almost at my door, because someone is already there and seems to be just as frozen as I am.

“Oh God,” I mutter.

Stiles snorts. “It’s good to know you think so highly of me.”

I walk closer, then stop again. “Wait, are you the roommate Bobby was talking about?”

That would mean that Stiles is staying. It’ll be just like old times. I barely suppress my elated smile at the thought of that.

He nervously bites his lip. “I mean . . . only if you want to.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He’s silent, not meeting my eyes and he looks almost ashamed or something. It unsettles me. I decide to change the subject.

“You want to go on a run or something? We could go check out the lake if you want?”

I enter the room, because going on a run sounds great either way. He follows me inside and looks away again when I start changing into my running gear. Odd.

“That’s okay,” he finally says. “But we should talk about some things.” He rummages through his bag – still unpacked since he apparently just got here – until he finds his own t-shirt and athletic shorts. He’s facing away from me and I’m glad, because my mouth falls open unattractively when he pulls off his shirt. Stiles is _built_. I knew he had filled out in the years we didn’t see each other but this is . . . something else.

“Whoa. Are you on steroids or something?” I have no clue where that question came from, but I have to admit I’m kind of curious about the answer.

Stiles chuckles in disbelief and turns around as he puts on a new t-shirt. “What?”

“Just,” I gesture with a hand at his upper body. “Not what I remember.”

Stiles smirks and wiggles his eyebrows. “Jealous?”

I scoff and pointedly look at my own chest, flexing my muscles for good measure. “No need.”

I expect him to make another joke, but instead he nods his head a couple of times and sighs. “Fair enough.”

“You ready to go?”

He nods and gestures at his bag. “Can I leave that here?”

“Obviously.”

He bites his lip and won’t meet my eyes again. I vow to myself I’m going to find out why.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

 

Derek and I run side by side on our way to Derwentwater. I really need to talk to him, but I’m not sure how to broach the subject. I have a feeling he has already caught my nervousness and I don’t want to make this awkward.

It doesn’t take too long for us to reach the lake and we start to follow our regular path without either of us having to say a word. It’s nice that we’re still so in sync, even after having been separated for a few years.

We reach a small strip of sand that has been here for years. There’s a wooden bench and an old goalpost without a net. We find a ragged ball that’s just lying around and decide to play some football in the sand, reminiscing about our teenaged years.

“Remember that night you decided to go skinny dipping?” Derek asks me with a chuckle.

My face scrunches up as I listen to him continuing to remember that day. I watch him shaking in silent laughter when he comes to the part of the story where I had gone in and hadn’t even reached the water yet when I slipped on the mud at the bank of the lake, landing on my ass. I ended up with mud in places mud should never be.

“God, don’t remind me,” I tell him, feigning a shudder. It had been worth it, though. We’d both been sixteen and it was around the time I found out I’m gay. I was already crushing on Derek at the time. It made Derek laugh then and it makes him smile now, and it never fails to make me happy to see him this way. Man, I’m so far gone on him.

I still need to apologize though, and I need to tell him everything else too. I hate that I’m probably going to ruin the good mood. It has to be done though. Derek deserves an apology and I need to finally get this off my chest.

“Listen man, we need to talk.”

“Yeah, so you’ve said.”

“I’m only going to be here for a couple of weeks, until the end of July.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says. “I was scouted by Everton, so that’s where I’ll be going.”

“Liverpool eh, that’s great!” I tell him truthfully. I’m happy for him. “I got scouted too, actually. I’m gonna be playing for Southampton.” I take a deep breath and continue. “So before I tell you this thing I just want you to know that I will understand if you don’t want to room with me anymore.”

“What? Why would you even think that?”

Here goes nothing. I brace myself. Coming out has never been easy in the past, but this time might be the hardest one yet. I open my mouth and let the words spill out.

“I’m gay.” I meet his eyes, but they give nothing away. “I’ve known since I was about sixteen, so when we spent that night together four years ago . . . I knew what I was doing, Derek. I managed to talk you into it and I just – I’m so sorry. It was a shitty thing to do.”

He’s just looking at me, completely silent and I wait anxiously for him to say something.

“You’re joking, right?”

And okay, I’m confused. He doesn’t really look mad or anything, but those words don’t sound very accepting.

I slowly shake my head. “No.”

Derek’s eyes narrow dangerously and I swallow. “Is that why you cut me out of your life?” I nod and Derek, he _explodes_. “FUCK YOU! What, you think I’m some kind of bigoted asshole or something? You seriously thought I’d freak out because we had sex _once_?!”

What?

I’m still confused, though I’m aware I should apparently be apologizing for something else.

“ _You_ felt guilty about the two of us fooling around and you punished _me_ for it. Do you even realize how fucked up that is?! I’ve spent the past four years wondering how I messed up our friendship and now you tell me this?! Screw you, Stilinski!”

He turns away and kicks the ball far into the lake. The sound of impact when his foot meets the ball makes me flinch.

“I need to be alone for a while,” he says with a huff. He takes off running along the path back to camp before I get a chance to utter a single word.

Well fuck. How did I not realize how deeply I hurt him by . . . fuck, by _abandoning_ him? I’m such an idiot.

And now I’ve apparently managed to ruin things between us once again.

 

#

 

**Derek**

My mind is racing and I’m fucking _furious_ right now. It’s been hours since Stiles told me why he dumped me as his best friend four years ago and I just can’t even look at him right now. At dinner, I completely ignored him. I wouldn’t have known what to say to him anyway.

And yet the thought of losing him again is killing me.

I’m in our room now, and I know Stiles is just outside the door, working himself up to face me. I’m almost tempted to just go out there and make it easier on him, but that’s also exactly the reason that I don’t. Let him stew in his thoughts for a bit.

When Stiles finally does come inside, the look on his face isn’t something I think I’ve ever seen there before. So timid, so ashamed, so regretful. So _unlike him_.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m just here to grab my stuff real quick.”

I sigh. “No you’re not.”

Stiles freezes, his eyes searching mine uncertainly. “I – I’m not?”

“No. Well, unless you want to I guess, but otherwise no. You can stay.”

“Oh.” He relaxes a little and I realize I need to clarify myself.

“This doesn’t mean we’re okay. But . . . we’ll get there. Just give me some time.”

He nods. “Yeah, of course. Are you really sure –”

“Shut up and unpack the stupid bag, Stiles.”

“Okay.”

 

#

 

Stiles gets introduced to the campers as one of the new offensive coaches at breakfast the next morning. When Bobby tells them that he was part of the team that won BUCS Big Wednesday this year, they immediately start idolising him, looking at him with stars in their eyes.

“And you went to Elites too?” one of the players asks.

He nods. “I sure did. The coaches here taught me almost everything I know about football.”

“Wow.” The other players nod in agreement.

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes. Most of the coaches here have attended Elites at some point in their lives, but apparently we’re going to ignore that little fact. No problem.

Not a problem at all.

 

#

 

After breakfast Bobby tells me to give Stiles a tour of the camp grounds. We both remind him how unnecessary that is, but he says it’s tradition so we should do it anyway. Fine. I shrug and tell Stiles to follow me.

Most things have remained the same since Stiles was here last, but there are a couple of new things, so I decide to just show him those. I also show him all the coaching equipment and explain some of the rules we need to follow as coaches.

He nods. “Bobby already told me most of that.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

We slowly walk away from the pitches, both of us lost in thought.

“I was scared,” Stiles admits after a while.

I immediately get what he’s talking about, not oblivious to the tension in his shoulders.

“What the hell could _you_ have been scared of?”

Stiles is never scared. That’s one the things I’ve always admired about him. He doesn’t back away from the scary stuff, but faces it head on. If he encounters a problem, he won’t ignore it until it goes away, he will do something about it until he has solved it. It’s what he has always done, so why was this situation with me so different?

“I was scared I’d used you,” he explains. “That’s what it felt like to me.”

“It takes two to tango, Stiles.”

I see his lips twitch, but he keeps the smile at bay and remains serious. Just like that I know that he’s telling the truth.

“Still though. I thought you’d hate me for it.”

“Never. Not for something stupid as being gay at least, I couldn’t care less about that. Besides, do you remember that night at all? Because I remember enjoying myself. I came so hard I’m sure I saw stars for a second.”

The thought sends a rush of heat to my dick. I refuse to acknowledge it. Our eyes lock and I can hear the teasing tone of his voice.

“Oh, I remember.”

Goddammit my dick is such a traitor. I change the subject before it becomes obvious to anyone else but me.

“So are you out then? Or am I the only one who knows?”

“Yes and no? It’s complicated.”

I shrug. “So explain it to me.”

“Well my aunt and uncle know, and Jackson obviously. My team at uni too, and now you. I’m not ashamed of being gay, but I don’t really go around advertising it either.”

“How did they react?”

“Jackson was supportive. He claims he always knew but I call bullshit on that one. The team accepts it, but ignores it mostly. And the Whittemores . . .” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Well, you can imagine how well that conversation went.”

“What did he say?” I ask carefully, almost afraid of the answer.

“Not much. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m just pretending to be gay to piss him off or something.”

God, that man disgusts me, seriously. I’ve never liked him and I’m pretty sure I never will. I can sense Stiles doesn’t really want to talk about it, so I ask if he’s going to tell the people at Southampton instead.

He shakes his head. “Not yet, and I don’t think I will to be honest. Maybe I’ll tell some people behind the scenes, but not the outside world. I mean we’re going to be playing in the Premier League. Everyone will be all up in our business, so until I’ve proven myself I’m not coming out. Football isn’t exactly known as a gay-friendly sport, you know?” He sighs. “Anyway, tell me about you. What’s been going on in your life the past four years? How’s your pack?”

I snort at his use of the word ‘pack’ _,_ surprised he remembers. “They’re good.” I suddenly get an idea. “Hey, would you like to see them?”

“They’re here?”

I roll my eyes at him fondly. “No idiot, I was talking about Skype. I’m sure they’d like to see you again.” Not that they’ve actually ever met in person before, but they’ve seen him a few times when I Skyped them from camp over the years.

Stiles sends me an almost shy smile. “I’d like that.”

 

#

 

When my family accepts the Skype call, all my sisters are there on the screen. The five of them immediately notice Stiles sitting beside him, and all of them exclaim the same three words, in perfect unison:

“Oh. My. God.”

I make a face at them. “Ugh, that will never not be creepy.”

“Shut up, you know you love us.”

“Seriously though,” Lena says. “Can we talk about how nice Stilinski has grown up?”

“You’re married,” Ivy reminds her.

“So? I still have eyes.”

“You’re way too old for him.”

“Old?! I just turned 30!”

“My point exactly.”

“Oh come on! And it’s not like you wouldn’t do him too. I know your type.”

“Hey, I never said I wouldn’t. I mean look at those _shoulders_ –”

“OKAY!” I interrupt them loudly, because _what the fuck_?

Stiles is laughing silently beside me and I roll my eyes at him. I know my sisters are just teasing me, but it makes me feel off. Another thing I am not going to acknowledge.

“So wait, are you guys friends again?”

Before Stiles can answer, I say: “Yeah, we are.”

Stiles can’t hide his pleased smile and I ruffle his hair, which causes my sisters to ‘ahw’ in synchrony again. We both blush until Laura, angel that she is, totally my favourite, changes the subject.

“How is the coaching going?”

We talk like that for a while longer until we end the call. Stiles seemed to enjoy it as well, so I’m happy we did this. Maybe we can finally put all this stuff behind us.

“You know, it’s weird,” Stiles tells me. “I’m kind of jealous of what you guys have, but then I also just don’t understand how you survive with five insane sisters.” His eyes widen. “Shit, don’t tell them I said that.”

“Don’t worry, they’d take it as a compliment,” I reassure him. “But it’s okay, mostly. My parents were so glad to finally get a son that they’ve never been too hard on me and let me do pretty much anything. And my sisters are pretty cool, when it counts.”

He nods and falls silent, and I know he wants to ask something else. “What is it?”

“Did you mean it? When you said we were friends?”

I sigh and give him a genuine smile. It’s pointless to stay mad when I can just move on and get my best friend back. “Yeah, Stiles. We’re good.”

He lets out a sigh of relief. “Good. I’d hug the shit out of you right now, but I’m not really sure you’re ready for that. No homo and all.”

I whack his head with my pillow to shut him up, but just manage to make him burst into laughter. “I don’t know why I missed you.”

 

#

 

**Stiles**

Coaching turns out to be a lot harder than I expected. I’m only coaching five players, since this is the first time I’m doing this, but I’m glad for it. These boys are so goddamn _stubborn_. I sigh when yet another of my strikers ignores what I advised him to do a minute ago and look at the other side of the pitch, where Derek is coaching his goalies. Unlike me, Derek seems to be a natural at this.

I watch him do his thing with a smile. I’m so happy that we have our friendship back. Sure, it’s still quite tentative now, but we’ll get there. Derek said so himself and I’m actually starting to believe that now.

I return my eyes to my players and jump when Bobby is suddenly standing in front of me.

“Jesus Christ, Bobby, warn a guy.”

He laughs and claps a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll think about it.”

My guys are messing around again instead of doing the exercise I gave them. It’s like they’re not taking football serious at all.

“What the hell is wrong with these kids?” I groan. “Even Derek and I weren’t this bad at following directions.”

Bobby bursts into manic laughter, which is so rude, but whatever. When he’s finished laughing he gives me a thoroughly unimpressed look. “Son, compared to you and Hale, these kids are a bunch of angels.”

“Your love for us warms my heart Bobby, it really does.”

“Head in the game, Stilinski.”

Those are my words and he knows it. I shake my head with a chuckle, but follow the order and return my eyes to my players. “Sure thing, Coach.”

About ten minutes later I get another example of why this job is harder than I expected. Two of the boys on the pitch are fighting. Zack Lewis, one of my strikers and one of Derek’s goalies, I think his name is Carter.

I quickly join them on the pitch and hear their bickering as I near them. They’re throwing slurs at each other and I’m close enough now that I can make out what they’re saying.

“– or maybe I was right, huh? You a fag?”

I furiously blow my whistle, burning with anger. They wince and put a halt to their insults.

“Dugout, _now!_ ”

“What?!”

“No way!”

I’m not having any of it. “Let me be very clear here. You will _not_ use slurs or other bad language of _any_ kind on this pitch. Understood?”

They must finally notice how angry I am, because whatever protests they have left seem to die in their throats. I snap my fingers and point in the direction of the bench.

“Go.”

I take a deep breath to calm myself and notice Derek walking up to me, looking impressed.

“Well done, young padawan.”

“Star Wars references?” I dramatically put my hand on my chest. “Oh Mr Hale, you sure know the way to a man’s heart.”

“Sure, if that man is secretly still thirteen,” Derek says and _winks_ at me. My stupid heart skips a few beats at the sight of it.

“Careful there Hale, people might think you’re flirting with me.”

 He snorts. “Don’t worry, I’m secure in my sexuality.”

_Yeah, don’t remind me._ I roll my eyes for good measure and turn back to the team, blowing my whistle loudly again. And damn, if I don’t get a kick out of it every time I get to do that. I guess there are perks to this job after all.

“What are you waiting for ladies?! Get your asses back in gear, go, go, GO!”

 

#

 

After training Derek suggests we grab something to eat at the diner we used to frequent as teens.

“Dude, that place still exists?”

Derek frowns at me like I’m an idiot. “Of course, dumbass, it’s only been four years since you’ve been here last, not a lifetime.”

I shrug. “Could’ve fooled me.”

He huffs. “Such a drama queen.”

I am going to ignore that, thank you. We enter the diner – the sign with _Penelope’s_ written on it still shining as brightly as it did the last time I was here - and claim the same table we always sat at. My face lights up with a delighted grin when our waitress comes to our table.

“Trish, my love, it has been too long!”

Her mouth falls open and she looks at Derek with wide, pleading eyes. “Please tell me I’m just having a really bad dream and that is not actually Stilinski sitting at your table.”

“Ahw, baby, don’t be like that. You can admit you missed me, Derek won’t tell anyone.”

She closes her eyes and makes a noise that’s somewhere between a groan and a sob. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing. She opens her eyes again and sends me an impressively fake smile.

“I am going to make sure your curly fries will have a buttload of salt on them and I’ll refuse to refill your drink tonight.”

“That’s my girl!”

She ignores me and turns to Derek. “What will it be for you, Hale?”

“Just the regular, thanks.”

She leaves without another word and I watch her go, finally letting the laughter spill out. “Damn, some things never change.”

Derek chuckles and watches me.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “It’s just . . . I’m curious.”

“About what?”

“How did you find out you were gay?”

_Oh boy._

“I mean no offense, but you always seemed interested in women, or at least in their attention. You certainly liked flirting with them.” He points in the general direction of the kitchen, indicating Trish as an example.

 I shrug. “I was definitely trying to enjoy it.”

“But?”

“I don’t know, it just never . . . clicked, or something.” Why are we even talking about this? It’s so weird. “I mean you’re right that I liked the attention, but that’s really as far as it went. Women just never made me feel those cliché things you’re supposed to feel, like butterflies in your stomach, your heartbeat going out of control, you know?” Not to mention that they failed to turn me on.

He nods. “Yeah, makes sense. So what type of guy does give you ‘butterflies’?”

Did I say it was weird before? I was wrong. _This_ is weird.

“Why do you wanna know?”

Derek’s expression hardens, a clear indication that he’s hurt, and I scramble to explain myself;

“No, not – I’m not saying I think you don’t want to hear about it because it would be talking about men, it’s just . . . weird to discuss this shit in general, I guess.”

He grins. “Well get used to it, because you know I’ve never been able to leave well enough alone.”

_Understatement of the century_.

“Fine,” I huff in amusement. “But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you.”

He hums and motions for me to continue. _So impatient_.

“Well, I like muscles I guess. Not like, body-builder levels of muscle, though. And twinks aren’t really my thing. Uhm, I like it if a guy is tall –”

“Dark and handsome?” he finishes for me, wiggling his eyebrows. I laugh and throw my napkin at his face.

“Sure.” Honestly my type is sitting right in front of me, but there’s no way I’m telling him that. We’re friends now. Friends is good.

“What about other stuff?” he asks, eyes alight with amusement. “Do you like them hairy? Or hey, do you check out a guy’s ass like I do with girls? Does it make you hard when you think about squeezing it?”

“Derek Hale,” I gasp. “How dare you let those filthy words leave your mouth.”

He laughs and I join him. As weird as it is to talk about this with him, I’m happy we can talk about the subject and even joke about it.

Our food arrives then and I wink at Trish when she sets my plate in front of me. “Thanks love.”

She smiles and gives me the finger. Then she walks away. Derek laughs and I just shrug and attack my food. My curly fries that are _definitely_ more salt than fry, _holy shit_. I cough and spit it out again, trying to scrape the salt off my tongue and then just decide to wash it away with my drink.

I find Trish’s eyes across the diner and scowl at her. “Enjoy your meal!” she calls.

I’m about to reply with something appropriately witty, but am interrupted by Derek throwing one of the evil fries at my head. I whip around and look at the guy, stunned.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“Just eat your burger and leave the fries, you can share mine.”

“Have I told you that I love you lately? Because –”

I’m interrupted by another fry in the face and break off my sentence. “Point taken.”

The rest of dinner passes in pleasant conversation, just like four years ago. Just like it should be. We pay for our food and even leave a tip, like the good citizens we’ve become. Before we leave though, I can’t help myself and throw the overly salty curly fries in the air like confetti. I’m sure Trish won’t mind. She loves me.

Just before we reach the door, we hear Trish coming back from the kitchen and shrieking.

“STILINSKI!”

Derek pushes me out the door and we run, laughing all the way back to camp.

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

Saturday nights and Sundays are free for the coaches. Bobby and his wife always take the kids to the lake on Sundays to do whatever. Doesn’t really matter what. What matters, is that Stiles and I can hit a bar tonight and get a beer or two. Maybe three. Or four. Definitely not more. Probably.

While we’re getting ready, Stiles’ phone keeps chiming with notifications of some kind. He sits down on his bed and checks his phone for the umpteenth time tonight.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He pats the free space on the bed beside him. “Come see for yourself.”

I cross the room and take a seat beside him. Is it just me or don’t we fit on a bed together as easily as we used to? As it turns out, the notifications were from a gay hook-up app. Which is . . . whatever. Stiles must see my emotions on my face, because he rolls his eyes and chuckles.

“Don’t worry, it’s just entertainment. You should see some of these guys’ profiles, it’s hysterical.”

I shrug and watch as he scrolls through a couple of profiles. The profile pictures vary from simple selfies to creative photos of various body parts . . . The info on the profiles – if there even is any – makes it very clear why it’s called a hook-up app.

“Oh he’s _way_ too old for you,” I snap, thoroughly grossed out by the next picture Stiles shows me.

He laughs. “No shit.”

His phone chimes in quick succession, indicating that someone is talking to him on the app. I feel uncomfortable all of a sudden and stand up from Stiles’ bed and continue getting ready for tonight. I’m relieved when Stiles pockets his phone and does the same. He glances at the window wistfully.

“I’ll need to get used to us not having to sneak out through the window,” he says.

“Hey you can still use the window, no one’s stopping you. By all means, go for it.”

He shrugs. “Okay.” He walks up to window and I huff in amusement.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t be so surprised, you’ve met me.”

I chuckle and grab Stiles’ shoulders – still so much broader than I remember – and redirect him towards the door.

“You’re no fun,” Stiles pouts.

“You know, you’re doing a terrible job of convincing me you’re not still a teenager.”

“Shut up, I pay for tuition and rent, sucks the child right out of you, let me tell you.”

I make a disgusted face at that. “Please never phrase that like that again.”

He laughs and ruffles my hair. “Whatever you say, buddy. “

 

#

 

We decide to just hit a bar in town and walk there. I enjoy the cool night air. It always has been a great way to calm me down and clear my mind a bit. Stiles is awfully quiet beside me and I nudge him with my arm to get his attention.

“What are you thinking about?”

He sighs. “University. Things I regret.”

“Like what?”

“Well, my first year, mostly. I was so scared that people would find out about me being gay that I kind of forgot about having fun for a while.”

I’m stunned, because this is the second time he’s admitted to being scared of something. Yet in my mind Stiles and scared don’t belong in the same sentence. As long as I have known him, he’s never been scared . . . or maybe I was just too blind to see it. I let it slide and answer on a more positive note instead.

“It’s always hard to settle in a new place, especially at university. Lots of changes, you know? It’s a big step.”

He nods. “Yeah. Jackson helped, though. He’s become one of my best friends since we both moved out of the Whittemores’ house.

“I’m happy to hear that.” It’s the truth. Yet I can’t help but wonder if he ever made any other real friends, or if it’s just me and Jackson.

I don’t ask.

 

#

 

We find a random pub and go inside. The only tables still free are in the back, far away from the bar. All of the closer tables are already taken. We both order a beer and take a seat in the back. After a while I notice a man at the bar who keeps looking around, like he’s looking for someone. I don’t really know what to think of it. Stiles’ phone chimes with a notification from that hook-up app and he gets his phone out to check it. The man at the bar notices too and grins, stalking towards their table.

“Uhm, Stiles?”

He looks up and his eyes widen when he spots the man walking our way. “Shit sorry, I should have turned my damn phone off.”

Unfortunately, the man has already reached our table. “Hi there,” he greets us both. “So whose abs am I looking at?” he asks, lightly waving the phone in his hand.

Abs? I look at Stiles and whatever expression I’m wearing on my face makes him chuckle.

“My profile picture,” he explains. Ah. Well, at least it’s not a dick pick.

The guy offers us something to drink. I tell him I don’t want one, but Stiles surprises me when he accepts another beer.

The man introduces himself as Nick when he gets back, and he and Stiles seem to get along instantly. They talk and talk while I just . . . _sit_ there, wondering what the hell just happened. I’m supposed to be enjoying a night out with my friend, not watch him flirt shamelessly with another man.

They try to get me to join the conversation a couple of times, but I just can’t find it in me to do so. As it turns out, Nick is a primary school teacher and shit, why couldn’t it be something I can hate on? Honestly, he seems like a good guy. You know, besides the fact that he just stole my night with my best friend. He’s good looking too, though not as good-looking as Stiles. And whoa, when did I start thinking of Stiles as good-looking? 

“You guys wanna play some pool?”

I pass, but Stiles shrugs and says: “Sure.”

Great. I guess I’ll just watch then. I get another beer as they set up their game. When I get back they’re in the middle of their game and I can admit it, I’m getting frustrated. They totally third-wheeled me. I have to say they look good together, though. They sure are having fun together.

They keep playing for the next hour. I keep drinking. You know what, I take it back. I don’t like this friend-stealing asshole at all. In fact, he gives me the creeps. There’s just something off about him. No idea what, but I’m sure there’s something. Not that Stiles sees it, of course.

The two of them are getting handsy now. It’s mostly Nick who instigates it, but Stiles isn’t making any moves to stop him. Maybe I should just go back to camp. I catch Stiles licking his lips and my mind fills with images of _that_ night. How those lips felt against my skin. Around my cock.

Fuck, where did that come from?

Nick’s hand is resting low on Stiles’ back, just above the swell of his ass and something just snaps inside me. What the hell does this guy think he’s doing anyway? They don’t even know each other.

I get up and join them, rudely interrupting whatever they were talking about. “Ready to go?”

Stiles frowns. “What, now?”

I nod. The more I think about, the more I want to get out of here. I’m not feeling so great. And I’m really drunk. It has nothing to do with the two of them getting a little too close for comfort. Nothing at all.

Stiles looks at me and I look back coolly. He nods and – thank God – tells Nick we’re going. Nick asks Stiles for his number before we leave and Stiles sends him a small smile. “Yeah, sure.”

Right, because God forbid they never hear from each other again.

When they’re done Stiles and I make our way to the exit and I curse when we step outside. It’s raining. Of fucking course it is. I sigh and start walking.

Stiles has other ideas, though. He grabs a hold of my shoulder and roughly turns me around so I’m facing him.

“What the hell was that in there, Derek?”

I frown. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t act stupid, you know exactly what I’m talking about. You acted like a total ass in there man, what the hell?” He shakes his head and starts walking.

“ _I_ was acting like an ass? You’re the one who all but ditched me tonight!” I yell, running a few steps to catch up to him.

He whips back around to face me, scowling heavily. “You _know_ that’s not true. You’re the one who didn’t want to join us, not the other way around.”

“Yeah, well maybe I just couldn’t stand the way his hands were all fucking over you!”

“What?”

Crap.

Stiles’ mouth opens and closes again a few times, like he just doesn’t know what to say or do to handle this situation. I am right there with him. Stiles licks his lips and my treacherous brain once again thinks about the night he gave me the best blowjob of my life.

Oh.

_Oh._

I take a step closer, still looking at his lips.

“Derek,” Stiles says, unsure. “Derek what –”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish that sentence, because I step closer again. And put my hands on his waist. And then I kiss him.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

Holy –

He’s kissing me.

_Derek Hale_ is _kissing_ me.

There are so many emotions going through me right now. Elation. Excitement. Disbelief. Confusion. Derek is straight. He even has a girlfriend to prove it. Fuck, he has a _girlfriend_. Just like that I’m pushing him away from me, hard.

“What the _fuck_ , Derek?!”

Derek licks his lips and huffs, slightly dazed. “Huh.”

“You’re straight.”

“Yes,” he breathes.

“What about your girlfriend, huh? Paige, was it?”

“Paige?” he shakes his head. “We’re just friends . . . who fuck sometimes. But nothing more, I swear.”

“Oh well, guess that makes everything okay then,” I huff and start walking again. “Screw you.”

His next words are almost too low for me to hear, but I do anyway.

“I’d like that.”

I turn around so fast I almost trip over my own feet. “ _What?”_

“I said –”

“I know what you said,” I snap, stalking back towards him. “But you’re straight. And _drunk_. So you might think this is a good idea right now, but –”

For the second time tonight, he cuts me off with a kiss. I open my mouth to protest, but he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue inside and tangle it with mine. And damn, that is one skilled tongue right there. I’d happily do this for the rest of my life, I kid you not. But as much as it pains me, I can’t do this. I bunch my hands in his shirt and groan, leaning back a little before taking a few steps back, putting space between us.

“For the love of God, Hale,” I mutter.

“What,” he asks, sounding breathless. “You don’t want me?”

“Of course I do, I’m –” I snap my mouth shut before I can let it slip that I’m in love with him. I promised I wouldn’t do this again. “We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“ _Why?!_ Because the last time this happened we didn’t speak for four fucking years, that’s why!”

“Yeah, and whose fault was that?”

My mouth falls open, but no sound comes out. I’m too stunned for words.

“Hey,” he says, stepping closer again and putting his hands on my face, surprisingly gentle. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I meant it when I said I’m not angry at you anymore. Besides,” he wets his lips and my eyes are immediately drawn to them. “When have you ever turned your back on a bad idea?”

He’s going to be the death of me, I swear to god. There’s no way this is going to end well. And more likely than not, I will end up with a crushed heart. Again.

“You’re killing me here, Derek.”

“That’s not a no.” His thumbs stroke my cheeks and my brain short-circuits, leaving only want in its place. I’m definitely going to regret this later, but fuck it. I curl my hand around the back of his neck and pull him closer, letting our lips meet for the third time tonight. This time, it’s much slower, much softer, just the two of us exploring each other’s mouths. It takes my breath away.

The door to the pub bangs open and a group of girls make a shrieking exit, running to their cars through the rain. Only now do I realize we’re still in front of the pub. I look at Derek and he finally seems to have snapped out of whatever possessed him to kiss me. I’m waiting for him to freak out, but all he says is: “Let’s just go back to camp.”

He walks past me and I follow, silent, not knowing what to say. The walk back to camp is quiet and I can’t stand it anymore. When we reach the entrance to camp grounds, I finally open my mouth.

“Sorry. That shouldn’t have happened.”

He hums. I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean, but I continue. “I’m going to stop by Bobby’s office real quick, you can head up to our room already.”

I’m praying that he will and just go to sleep so we can leave this night behind us. He grunts and starts heading to the trainers’ lodge and I sigh. I wonder how many times I have to let him walk away from me before one of us can’t take it anymore.

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

  
  


What the _fuck_ did I just do?

I sucked face with my best friend, that’s what. And then he brushed me off. I have no idea what to do with that. I don’t know what to do with any of this.

I step onto the porch of the trainers’ lodge and open the front door. I’ve barely taken two steps inside when I almost literally run into Bobby.

“Hey kiddo, you okay?”

I swallow and nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Bobby looks at me and after a moment he comes to a conclusion. “Stilinski told you, hm? That he’s gay?”

I frown. “Yeah, how did you . . .?”

“He told me when he finally accepted my offer to come coach here. Told me he’d do it, but that I should know first that he’s gay, and then he said he would understand if I wasn’t okay with it.” The man scoffs. “As if I’d ever have a problem with that. It’s not my business in the first place. Anyway, he accepted the job and told me he’d have to tell you too if you were going to be rooming together.”

Wow. That is a lot of new information right there. I didn’t even know Bobby has been asking Stiles to coach here before. I guess it does make sense, though. I notice Bobby looking at me like he’s waiting for me to say something.

“Oh. I told him that I couldn’t care less. I still can’t believe he thought I wouldn’t be okay with it.”

The man shrugs. “There are still a lot of people out there who aren’t as open about it as we are. For a guy like him it definitely takes some balls to just come out with it like he did.”

Huh. I guess it does. I never even thought about it like that, just kind of took it for granted. Stiles has never been the type of person who cares about what other people think about him, but maybe this is different. He even outright told me he was scared.

“Yeah,” I sigh and shake my head. “I’m gonna head up if you don’t mind. My bed is calling for me.”

He chuckles. “Goodnight son.”

“Night Bobby.”

 

#

 

I’m lying in bed and blankly look at the ceiling. It has already been like two hours, but Stiles still isn’t back. And without him here to distract me, I am overthinking _everything._

First thing on the list: I’m apparently not as straight as I thought.

Then again, I was very drunk and very jealous. I sigh and wish I could say I was still drunk right now, but no such luck.

Second thing: have I been lying to myself?

I mean, all those years I thought that my admiration for the guy was just that. But now I’m wondering if there wasn’t something else there too. Every time I tried to get him to laugh or smile I thought was because he was my best friend, but maybe I was wrong about that too, who knows? And let’s not forget the fact that I always went along with whatever crazy thing he came up with.

I push my hands against my eyes, groaning in frustration. This is so insane.

I roll over onto my stomach and gasp when my dick makes contact with the bed beneath me. _Oh_. So turns out my dick is a lot less confused about all this than I am. I’m still hard. Because yes, making out with Stiles made me hard. I might even want more. Like I said before, I’m not sure about anything right now.

That’s when Stiles comes back to the room. I go completely still against the mattress, stuck between a fight or flight response, which apparently means I just freeze. I’m not even looking in his direction, but apparently my hearing is enough to know exactly what he’s doing. He’s getting ready for bed and my ears are trained on the sounds of his clothes leaving his body. Something inside me wishes I could do it myself. Undress him, that is.

My dick jumps and I swallow another gasp. Huh. So apparently just the thought of him getting naked is enough to get my dick interested now. Good to know.

I hear him get into bed, but to my utter frustration he doesn’t say anything. He’s choosing to avoid me yet again. And I know it’s just because he doesn’t want to ruin our friendship, but fuck that. Seriously. We both know how well that ended last time.

So I roll over and decide to be the bigger person. “We should talk about this.”

He sighs. “We should.” He pauses. “How uh . . . how are you feeling?”

“Horny.”

He scoffs. “That’s the alcohol talking.”

“Yeah no, it’s really not.” I sit up and swing my legs to the side so I’m sitting on the edge of my bed, feet firmly planted on the ground. He can probably see my erection this way, but I don’t even care. Hell, maybe I _want_ him to see it. “I’m not drunk.”

“Right.” He sighs. “I still shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“So you wouldn’t do it again?”

“No.”

I pout. “Sucks.” That gives me an idea. I stand up and push my boxers down, ball them up in my hand and throw them right in his face. It has the desired effect. He laughs.

I laugh too and sit back on the bed. Then I touch my dick and he promptly stops laughing.

 

#

 

**Stiles**

I know I’ve said this before, but Derek Hale is _going to be the death of me._ Jesus fucking Christ.

My mouth runs dry the moment he touches his dick and my brain draws a complete blank on how to deal with the situation. I try to look anywhere other than his dick, but it’s a lost cause. Once I give in, I just _can’t stop looking_. What’s even worse is that my own dick is enjoying the sight too. 

“God, why do you insist on making this so difficult for me?” I all but whine.

He lies back down on the bed and starts slowly jerking himself, still watching me. I hate him. I want him. I put a hand on my dick on top of my boxers in a failing attempt to keep my own arousal at bay. Derek gasps.

“Derek what the fuck are you _doing?_ ” I groan.

“Mind if I start jerking off?” he asks, using the _exact_ same words I used four years ago when we – Mother _fucker_.

“I just want to let it be known how much I hate you right now,” I tell him, voice rough because I’m seriously losing my shit here. This is all I’ve wanted for a long time and he’s basically handing it to me on a silver platter.

He lets out a shuddery breath. “Okay.”

Okay? Nothing about this is _okay_. It sucks. Speaking off, I’d very much like to suck his dick again. And the longer I look at him, the more it starts to sound like a good idea.

 He squeezes his dick again and thumbs the head and just like that I’m done. I finally give in and put my hand inside my boxers so I can touch myself. I let out a relieved sigh when my hand wraps around my dick.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes, making me look back at him. “I need to know.”

He doesn’t need to tell me what he’s talking about. I get it. And yes, I told myself I wouldn’t do this again. Just like last time, I know this is a bad idea. And just like last time, I go through with it anyway.

I stand up and drop my boxers to the floor, taking the few steps I need to reach Derek’s bed. His hand grabs mine the moment he can reach it and he tugs me down on top of him, and a moment later we’re kissing again.

I sigh against his mouth and don’t fight the moan that escapes when his tongue slides into my mouth. He’s a phenomenal kisser. His hands tentatively explore my body and I let him do it. I welcome it, even. I have never really been able to say no to him and this time is no different.

I move back a little so I can lock eyes with him. If I’m going to do this again, I’m at least going to fix one of the things I did wrong last time.

“I need you to tell me you’re okay with this, Derek.”

“I am,” he nods. “Please.”

Okay. I take a deep breath. “Okay. Tell me what you want.”

“You.”

I smile helplessly down at him. “A little more specific?”

He watches me and I look back, waiting. Then he surprises me by flipping us around so I’m underneath him. Our dicks slide together and we both let out a moan at the friction. He brushes his lips against mine and we kiss like that for a while, slowly grinding against each other. He’s the one who pulls back this time.

“I want to suck you off, I think,” he grounds out.

“You _think_?”

He flicks one of my nipples in retaliation, making me gasp. “I really want to. But it’s not like I’ve done this before so . . . I might suck at it.”

I choke out a laugh. “That’s kind of the point.”

He narrows his eyes at me and I pat his cheek a few times. “Don’t worry, I won’t laugh at you anymore. Promise.”

The look in his eyes turns to full-fledged determination and I swallow in anticipation. “Seriously though, you’ll be fine.”

He gives me one more kiss and then moves down until his head is next to my cock. I can’t wait for him to wrap his lips around me, but to my surprise he only takes my dick in his hand and starts teasing me by planting kisses all over it.

I groan. “You trying to drive me crazy?”

“I don’t need to do much to accomplish that,” he muses.

“Ha-ha –,” I cut myself off with a loud moan when he suddenly swallows half my dick down. _Shit_. Derek’s face looks a mix of confusion and arousal, but mostly he just looks curious. I catch his eyes and grin down at him in silent encouragement.

He moves up a little so he can suck on the head of my dick and my eyes slip closed. I let out another moan.

“ _Yes_.”

One of his hands travels to my chest and he starts playing with one of my nipples. I gasp and he lets my cock pop free of his mouth, replacing it with his hand again. He smirks at me and kisses a path up my stomach all the way to my ear, never stopping his ministrations on my nipples and cock.

“You like that?” he whispers and I nod almost desperately.

“Fuck yeah I do.”

He laughs softly against my ear and I shudder. He kisses my lips briefly, then moves back down to my throat, collarbones, and stops at my nipples. He starts mouthing at them, dividing his attention between the two nubs while still stroking my leaking dick in a near perfect rhythm. I bury my hands in his hair and tighten my hold on the black strands when he gently bites at one of my nipples.

“I’m gonna come,” I moan and he speeds up the hand on my cock, moving his head up so he can kiss me again. When I realize I’m tasting myself on his tongue, I come all over my stomach.

He moves back so he can look at the mess on my stomach, and lets out a disbelieving laugh.

“That was hot.”

He dips a finger into the mess and puts it in his mouth, tasting me. His face seems to be stuck between curiosity and revulsion and I snort. “Lie down, big guy,” I tell him, deciding to give him a chance to think about something else. Me and my mouth, preferably.

Derek lies down beside me and winks. “Blow me away.”

It’s another quote from four years ago. I laugh and give him a quick kiss. “I will.”

I move down his body and ignore his cock, deciding to pay some attention to his balls instead first. I remember he seemed to like that last time. I softly suck on them, enjoying the way it makes him gasp. I replace my mouth with a hand and nose my way up his shaft.

Derek comes the moment my lips touch his cockhead and I swallow him down on reflex.

“Now who’s the thirteen-year-old?” I chuckle after he’s stopped coming. “You lasted for like _two_ seconds.”

He laughs, shoulders shaking with it. “Oh man, I really did.”

I huff in amusement and pick up a shirt – no clue whose it is – and wipe away the come left on my stomach and some that found his. I decide to be bold and gently nudge him until he’s lying on his side so I can spoon him. This is another thing I’ve wanted for ages.

Derek freezes at first, but relaxes when I put my arm around his waist and pull him closer until our bodies fit snugly together. I kiss the back of his neck.

“You going to freak out now?”

I can’t see his face, but I know he’s frowning. “I’m not sure yet.”

Hm. Alright then.

“Goodnight Stiles.”

“Night Derek.”

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

When I wake up the next morning, Stiles is gone.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES, I know, I’m evil. Sure, I could have left that last sentence out, but this is so much more fun :P. I promise I’ll try to finish the next chapter as soon as possible! 
> 
> PS. I didn’t really give a warning for anything that happened in this chapter, but if you think I should, let me know, okay? Same goes for other chapters :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay it took me way longer to finish this chapter than I initially planned, but it's really long again so I hope that makes up for it ^-^  
> Also I’m pretty sure Durham already has a girls’ football team, but for the sake of this fic we’re going to pretend it doesn’t.  
> Hope you enjoy :)

 

#4 – _June, Elites Football Camp (weeks 2 and 3)_

**Derek**

When I wake up the next morning, Stiles is gone. I feel around and frown when I notice that the place he slept in last night is cold, I frown. He must have been gone for a while then. Stiles’ own bed doesn’t look slept in either. I’m not sure how to feel about that. Not happy, that’s for sure. I mean sure, we don’t have to do the whole awkward morning after thing, but we’re going to have to talk at some point. I will make sure that we do.

I slowly sit up and drag my hands over my face, trying to get fully awake. When I drop them, my eyes land on our discarded boxers on the floor. Realization hits me in the face.

_I had sex with a man last night._

More than that, _I’m_ the one who instigated it. God, I practically begged for it. I needed to find out if having sex with a man would make me feel . . . what exactly? Gay? I don’t feel gay, I think. If there is even such a thing as ‘feeling gay’ in the first place. Honestly, I think I was just hoping something would click after what I did with Stiles last night. No such luck, though. If anything, I’m even more confused now.

I decide to get up and take a shower. Maybe that will clear my mind. I’m glad it’s Sunday today, so I at least get the time to figure out the mess inside my head. In the bathroom I turn on the shower and I look at myself in the mirror while I wait for the water to get warm. It’s still the same face I look at every morning. I’m still me. So why do I feel like there should be something there, something to indicate the change inside of me? Huffing, I step into the shower. I’m not making any sense.

I let the water glide over me with a sigh and lean my head against the wall. Maybe I should give Laura a call when I’m done showering. She’s always been my go-to person. She might have blabbed to our sisters about Paige, but I know she will keep this matter to herself if I asked her to.

When I soap up my body and my hands slide over my skin, I can’t help but think about last night. Stiles’ hands on my body had felt . . . nice. Amazing, actually. Same goes for my hands on _his_ body. Seeing him naked turned me on. Same for touching him. If given the chance, I’d like to do it again so . . . I guess that means I’m attracted to him.

The question is if it’s just Stiles I’m attracted to or men in general.

I get out of the shower and quickly dry off, walking back into the bathroom with the towel wrapped around my waist. There’s still no sign of Stiles. I pick up my phone and call Laura.

“Good morning, baby bro,” she sing-songs. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, gathering my thoughts. “I did something last night and I’m trying to figure out if I regret it.”

“Okay,” she hums. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s not the end of the world.”

This right here is why Laura is my person. Somehow she always says exactly what I need to hear. I don’t want to freak her out too much though, so I decide not to mention the sex part just yet.

“I kissed Stiles.”

On the other end of the phone, Laura chokes on whatever she was heaving for breakfast. I feel a lump rise in my throat, anxiously waiting for her reaction.

“Sorry,” she chokes out, clearing her throat a few times. “You _kissed_ Stiles?”

“Yes,” I mutter weakly.

“Okay,” she says, perfectly calm. “So do you two like each other or was it more a spur of the moment kiss?”

“I don’t know!” I exclaim and yep, there it is. I’m finally freaking out about this. I was wondering when it would happen. I’m almost glad Stiles isn’t here to see it.

“Breathe, Derek,” Laura tells me, her voice soft and steady. “Did you go out last night? Were the two of you drunk when you kissed?”

“Well yeah, but . . .” I trail off.

“But?”

“I think I’d like to do it again,” I admit softly.

“Okay,” she says. “That’s fine. What about Stiles, how did he react to the kiss?”

A rush of excitement spreads through me when I think of Stiles’ reaction. He’s not the one who has to deal with all this confusion right now, though. He already went through this years ago. I suddenly remember that my sister doesn’t even know that little fact yet.

“Listen Lau, you can’t tell anyone about this, but Stiles is gay. So that’s not the problem. I’m the one who has a problem with this.”

She hums, thinking about it. “I won’t tell anyone Der, but . . . honestly I think you should talk to Stiles about this. If you’re having a sexuality crisis he might be better equipped to help you out.” She pauses. “And even if you’re not, you should still talk to him. Before the two of you drift apart again.”

I sigh, knowing she’s right and hating it. “Okay. Thanks Laura.”

“Anytime buddy.”

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

 

I have officially reached a new low.

I’m voluntarily cleaning up the kitchen after breakfast because I don’t want to face Derek yet. I didn’t wake him up for breakfast. I know, I’m a coward. But waking up this morning, naked and with the man of my literal dreams sleeping in my arms . . . it scared the crap out of me. Because I know I can’t have him. And not just for the obvious reason.

If that’s even still a reason at all. For all I know he doesn’t regret last night at all and is going through a sexuality crisis right now. That’s probably wishful thinking though. In any case, I figured I should give him some time to find out how he feels about it all and to freak out in private if that’s what he’s going to do. I’m expecting he will to be honest.

So here I am, on voluntary cleaning duty.

The kids are all going to the lake today with Bobby and his wife and they left about an hour ago. I’m glad to get a break from coaching, but I have no clue what to do with so much free time on my hands. I’d usually spend it with Derek, but . . . well.

When I’m done in the kitchen, I walk through the lodge on my way to the front door. I’m surprised when I hear voices coming from inside the building. I frown and walk in the direction of the voices to investigate it. I can’t imagine that some of the kids were left behind or stayed here voluntarily.

The voices seem to be coming from inside Bobby’s office. I can hear Bobby now too, and he sounds frustrated. The door is ajar and I knock on it before tentatively stepping inside.

“Everything okay in here?” I ask as my eyes fall on the people in the room.

My mouth falls open when I realize there are two _women_ inside Bobby’s office. That is not a sight you see here every day. Aside from Bobby’s wife, no woman ever steps foot on these grounds for the duration of the camp. This is a place for boys, after all. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not against girls playing football or anything, on the contrary. It’s just that in all the years I’ve attended Elites, no girl has ever showed up here so out of the blue. I snap out of my thoughts when one of the women starts talking.

“Stilinski?”

I do a double-take and can feel my eyes widen in recognition. “You’re the pretty freshmen girl.”

It’s the girl from Durham, the one who gave Jackson her phone number back in March. I’m dying to know what she’s doing here. She extends her hand for me to shake and I take it with a smile.

“Lydia Martin,” she introduces herself, then gestures at the other woman and introduces her as her mother. I shake her hand too and clear my throat. I’m dying to know why they’re here.

“So no offense, but what are you doing at Elites?”

Her eyes harden and she sends Bobby an icy look. “I’m sure Mr Finstock would love to fill you in.”

Bobby sighs heavily and rubs his jaw nervously. “Ms Martin wants us to provide her with a personal football coach.”

I can’t help it; I snort. “What?”

Lydia directs her icy glare at me this time and I raise my hands in defence.

“I’m not saying you can’t play, I just don’t get why you came here. It’s well-known that Elites is an all-boys camp.”  
  
“Yes,” she snaps. “It’s also known as one of the best training camps in the country.”

I look at Bobby, not sure what the point is here. The man sighs.

“Like I told you before, Ms Martin, this camp is for boys who have a chance at making it in the football world, not for anyone who wants to learn how to play. I don’t care that you’re a girl, it’s just that I don’t know how to help you out. I don’t have any coaches to spare to give you private training sessions, so I’m really sorry but I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you.”

Lydia does _not_ look happy about that. I’m confused, to be honest. I don’t understand why she cares so much. For the first time since I’ve entered the room, Lydia’s mother opens her mouth to say something.

“So hire a new coach,” she shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I’ll pay.”

Bobby sighs and shakes his head. “I’m sorry Mrs Martin, but it’s not that simple.”

I’m suddenly struck by an idea, but I’m going to need some more details first.

“Can I ask why you want to have a football coach?” I ask, directing the question at Lydia. She turns to me, the look in her eyes almost hopeful.

“Well,” she explains, “I’m doing a project on gender equality in sport for extra credit after the summer, and in honour of that I’m starting a girls’ football team for the university. Since I’m going to be captain of this team, I need to be better than I am now.” She narrows her eyes at me. “Which for your information, is pretty good. It’s not like I’ve never played before. It’s just . . . I’m afraid there will be a lot of people who are going to look at my team as a joke, so I need to show them that girls _can_ in fact play football.”

“Alright,” I nod. I definitely like the sound of that and I admire her dedication to the project. “Well, in that case I might know a very competent personal coach.”

Bobby frowns at me. “And who might that be?”

I grin and share a look with Lydia.

“Jackson Whittemore.”

 

#

 

**Derek**

 

Stiles comes back to the room well after breakfast. I don’t know what he’s been up to, but apparently he didn’t want to include me. He was probably avoiding me again, since he is so good at that. Yes, I’m a little bitter about it. After talking with Laura I took some time to think things over and I realized that I’m not just bothered by him avoiding me. I’m also bothered that he wasn’t next to me when I woke up this morning. That would have been nice . . . I think. He didn’t exactly give me a chance to figure that one out.

Our eyes lock and he clears his throat, holding up a bag. “Brought you breakfast.”

“Oh,” I mumble, surprised. “Thanks.”

He nods and hands me the bag, which turns out to contain sandwiches after a look inside. “No problem.”

I sit down to eat my surprise breakfast and watch as he putters around our room, cleaning up a little while we make small talk. He doesn’t mention last night and I’m glad for it. For now, at least. We should still talk, but later. I need some more time to think about this mess.

“Hey, you should put on your football kit,” he tells me a little while later. “The kids are back already. Apparently there were too many people already at the lake or something, so now the ones who are interested are going to play a match.”

“Don’t the kids deserve a break too?”

“They do, but weren’t we the same at that age? All we did was sleep, eat and play football. Besides, they won’t be playing against each other.”

I frown. “They won’t?”

“Nope,” he grins. “They’ll be up against us. I found a few other coaches to volunteer to play too. You’re going to be our goalie, obviously.”

I huff in amusement and roll my eyes at him. “Obviously.”

 

#

 

On our way to the pitch, I falter in my steps when my eyes land on a very unexpected sight. There’s a _girl_ standing on the border of the pitch, dressed in a football kit like us and looking like she has every right to be there. Which technically I suppose she does, it’s not illegal for girls to be here, it just. . . doesn’t really happen. Like, at all.

Stiles follows my gaze and bumps our shoulders together. “Come on, I want you to meet someone.”

He leads us to the girl and introduces her as Lydia. Apparently she’s here for some one-on-one coaching, though I have no idea who’s supposed to be doing the job. I hum and nod along as Stiles talks, but to be honest I’m not really listening. Instead I’m subtly checking Lydia out.

She’s petite and curvy, exactly the type of girl I like. I definitely appreciate the view, and I feel a rush of relief spread through me. At least now I know that I still like women. So I’m either bisexual or Stiles-sexual then. Progress.

“So are you ready to play and show us what you’ve got?” Stiles asks Lydia.

She smirks, and I’m not sure whether to be excited or scared. At least she’s on our team.

“Am I ever.”

Bobby blows his whistle and tells us all to take position on the pitch, announcing himself as the referee. Before moving to his spot, Stiles wishes me good luck and winks at me. He’s done it a million times before, but now my heart skips a beat. It must show on my face, because he chuckles gleefully.

I roll my eyes and put on a faux-stern expression. “Head in the game, Stilinski!”

He throws his head back and laughs. “You got it, baby.”

I flush and pretend I didn’t hear that.

The match starts when Bobby whistles for the kick-off and for the next fifteen minutes or so I watch our team of coaches kick the kids’ asses. We may be their coaches, but we sure as hell won’t let them win to give them a confidence boost or something. Most of them are cocky enough as it is.

Since I don’t have much to do yet, my eyes track Lydia across the pitch. It surprises me, but I have to admit that she’s good. It’s clear she’s been playing football for a long time and has a talent for it. Especially the kids seem to be thrown by how well she plays.

Or maybe they’re just distracted by her feminine beauty.

My eyes move away from her then and find Stiles instead. Yes, I like seeing Lydia move on the pitch. But damn if seeing Stiles do his thing isn’t doing it for me too. My eyes roam over his broad shoulders. His strong chest when he receives the ball on it, letting it bounce off and onto his foot in one controlled move. The muscles in his legs as he dribbles with the ball, the way they clench when he kicks the ball towards the goal and scores.

He’s mesmerizing.

Our team cheers and I grin, locking eyes with my goalie Carter on the other end of the pitch. I briefly jab a finger to the side of my head, helping him remember what we talked about.

 _Head in the game_.

He nods and I smile when he calmly passes the ball and gets back inside his goal. I’m proud of him, and it reminds me again of why I love this job so much.

At half-time, our team is in the lead with 1-0. Considering the kids are playing against experienced players, it’s actually pretty impressive.

I’m leaning against one of the goalposts when Stiles joins me, handing me a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” I say, unscrewing the cap and taking a sip.

He does the same and glances at Lydia, who’s currently swarmed by the boys – both kids _and_ adults.

“So what did you think of her?” Stiles asks.

I shrug. “She definitely exceeded my expectations. Not because she’s a girl, but more because of how girly she looks, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “She didn’t really strike me as a football player either. Guess we were wrong, eh?”

“You said she was here for some personal coaching, right?” I ask. “Who’s going to coach her?”

He grins at me and I immediately know he’s up to something. “You remember Jackson, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, Lydia happens to go to Durham too and she _might_ have given Jackson her number a while ago.” He shrugs. “And since I know the guy doesn’t really have much else to do, I figured he’d be the perfect coach for her.”

I sigh heavily and look at him fondly. “You realize he’s going to be pissed when he finds out, right?” Because knowing Stiles, he isn’t going to tell Jackson about Lydia until he’s here and doesn’t have a chance to say no anymore.

‘Eh, that’ll only last for five minutes. Fifteen, tops. He’ll thank me later.”

“I’m sure he will.”

He’s about to say something, undoubtedly having noticed the sarcasm in my voice, but is interrupted by Bobby signalling the start of the second half of the match.

“Ready for another round of standing here and looking pretty while we play?”

“Hey,” I huff, faking offense. “I had to stop two goals in the first half.”

“Ooh, attaboy!” he chuckles and makes a move towards my ass. I expect a slap on my ass, another thing he’s done a million times before as a camaraderie thing, but he surprises me when he grabs it lightly and _squeezes_.

He winks again and jogs back to his position on the pitch, leaving me alone with my mini freak-out. I quickly look around, checking if anyone saw us. I realize I don’t want people to know, which causes me to freak out again, because it feels bigoted even though I know I don’t have any problem with gay people.

So why do I care about this?

 

#

 

After the match – which we won with 2-0 – Stiles and I return to our room for a quick shower and change of clothes. I go first and when I get back to the room, Stiles has what I like to call _‘the face’_. He’s wearing the type of sour expression he reserves solely for his uncle. Given the tension in Stiles’ shoulders and his defensive stance, this can’t be good.

“Wait, wait, let me get this straight,” Stiles says into the phone he’s holding to his ear. He sounds pissed. “You want me to do an interview and say I have a fucking _girlfriend?_ ”

Jesus Christ. I’ve mentioned I don’t like this man right? Because I really, really don’t.

“Sir, I’m not going to lie to the press.” He pauses, listening to whatever the asshole is saying at the other end of the line. “I don’t care if it will ‘boost my reputation’, that’s not –”

I step up behind him and squeeze his shoulders, offering my silent support. Stiles sighs and leans into it, giving me a small smile over his shoulder. I smile back and slowly rub his arms.

“Listen we’ll talk later,” he tells Whittemore. “Don’t tell him anything yet.”

“What did he want?” I ask when he has hung up the phone.

Stiles sighs. “An interview of my rookie year with _Sport_. He wants a friend of him to follow my first year at Southampton and make a reportage of it.”

“You realize what a bad idea that is, right?” I ask, resuming my gentle up-and-down strokes on his arms. _Sport_ is the biggest sport magazine in the UK, and having that much attention on his first year in the League, even the bad moments . . . it will be the worst and could end his career before it has even started.

He hums. “Yeah.”

“What are you going to do?”

He turns around then and I have to let him go. I miss touching him almost immediately. Stiles sighs again and shrugs.

“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure it out though, don’t worry.”

The conversation lulls into silence and we just stand there, watching each other. I have a feeling we’re going to have the talk now and I’m dreading it.

“Do you want to grab some lunch?” he asks.

I panic and make up an excuse. “I’m actually a bit tired. I think I’m just going to hang around here for a bit.”

He nods, but I have a feeling he doesn’t believe a word of what I just said.

I couldn’t help it, though. I’m just not ready.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

Okay so I’m not blaming Derek, but seriously? That guy is like the worst liar in the world. I could see right through him and I know he’s freaking out. I fucking knew this would happen. Yet somehow it feels different than I expected. Derek didn’t ignore me, nor did he try to avoid me. Hell, he was really sweet to me, rubbing my arms and all. So it can’t be that bad right? Maybe he just needs time.

I decide to let it go for now and get my phone out. I still have an important call to make.

“Hey buddy!” the voice on the other end greets me merrily.

“Jackson, my man, how are you doing?” I grin. “How’s your summer been so far?”

“It’s been good.”

There’s something in his voice that makes me pause. I can’t put my finger on it, but. . .

“What are you not telling me?”

He sighs, and I can imagine him squeezing the bridge of his nose as he tends to do when I see right through him.

“I uh . . . I broke up with Kate last week.”

My lips form a wide grin and I have the urge to congratulate him, but manage to rein myself in. I do fist-pump though. His timing couldn’t be any better.

“How did she react?”

He clears his throat. “Oh, you know. Threw a hissy fit, slapped me in the face, threw some random stuff at me.” He sighs. “She accused me of stringing her along, and maybe she was right. I almost feel bad for her.”

Oh _no no no._ Na-ah.

“Sounds like you need a distraction,” I say, deliberately keeping it vague. He’s silent, and I know he’s going to take the bait.

“Like what?”

I smile. “Well, we could actually use another coach here, and I recommended you. Bobby is okay with it, so if you like you could come and check out Derwentwater, play some football and make good money in the process.”

He hums. “Is this your way of telling me you miss me?”

“Don’t let it go to your head.” I tell him, amused. “So you’ll do it?”

“Yeah, I think I will. Thanks man.”

“What are brothers for right? See you soon.”

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

The minute Stiles is gone, I flop down on my mattress and open my laptop. It’s time for a little experiment involving my dick. We’re going to watch some porn.

I go to my favourite porn site and click on some random videos that have a high amount of views. The first few videos I try are . . . well, to be honest they freak me out and definitely do _not_ turn me on. One involved some very degrading dirty talk and the use of the word _daddy_ and no. Just no. I’d rather not think about my dad during anything even remotely sexual, thank you very much. And in the next video I learned that feet are apparently very sexual things. For some people. That are not me.

I exit the video and then I finally find something I like; just two attractive guys making out. And yes, I can say they’re attractive objectively, but I can also appreciate the way they look personally. I like their brood shoulders, and the muscles on display. Does that mean I have a type now? Interesting.

The two men are grinding against each other and then one of them starts moving down the other’s body. I expect a blowjob, but instead the guy moves even further down and licks at the other guy’s hole. The guy lets out a moan that goes straight to my dick.

I start jerking off, but have to remember not to go too fast. I’m doing this for a reason, not just to get off. I skip a few minutes ahead, to the anal part of the video. The man on top fingers the guy on the bottom and I expect it to be uncomfortable, but the bottom dude looks like he’s enjoying himself. Shortly after, the top enters him and this time there does seem to be some discomfort, but it soon makes place for wanton moans and pleas for more.

My eyes are avidly fixed on the screen and I’m breathing heavily, stroking my dick in a fast pace. I come with a bitten off moan. I lie there for a moment, staring at the ceiling. Well, that was a success.

After a quick breather, it’s time for part two of the experiment. Lesbian porn. I find a video I haven’t watched before and get going again, taking my time. As expected, I like this too and I come for a second time.

I sigh and let myself melt into the mattress. Alright then. So I’m still into women. But there’s no doubt that I’m into men too, because holy shit that video really did it for me. And I wasn’t imagining Stiles either. Just those two dudes having great sex and enjoying it, and so did I.

I kind of lose track of time while I’m thinking all this over, so I startle when I hear movement in the hall outside the room. Shit, that’s probably Stiles. I quickly get rid of all the evidence and try to act casual when Stiles comes in.

“How was lunch?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes at me and gives me a funny look. I silently pray he won’t realize what I’ve been up to. And if he does, that he won’t mention anything. “Didn’t have any yet.”

Huh. “Well, wanna go get some lunch now then? I’m starving.”

“I – sure.” He gives me another weird look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He nods. “Okay. Let’s go.”

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

 

I have to say, Derek’s behaviour is starting to frustrate me. He’s sending me so many mixed signals lately and guess what? He isn’t the only one freaking out about this anymore. I’m quite confident he doesn’t regret what we did last night, but he isn’t talking about it yet and I don’t know how to broach the subject. Plus, I totally know what he was doing while I was gone. And apparently he didn’t want to do it with me, so again, mixed signals galore.

He’s even doing it right now. I keep noticing Derek checking me out, repeatedly, on our way to get lunch. Like I said, I just have a feeling he doesn’t regret last night, so why is he being so difficult about this? Hell, why am _I_ being difficult about this? God knows I want a repeat of last night. Many many times, several times in a row, in several different positions.

“You feel like hiking to High Spy?” Derek asks, turning my attention away from my thoughts. High Spy is one of the peaks around here, along with Maiden Moor and Cat Bells. It takes a couple of hours to get there, but the view is definitely worth it.

I nod. “Yeah, sure.”

We quickly buy some lunch at a local supermarket, as well as some bottles of water, before starting the hike to High Spy. It’s a nice day for a hike and we clearly weren’t the only people who decided to take this particular route. Not that it’s crowded or anything, but we’re never alone for very long.

Meanwhile, Derek and I talk about random topics. Basically anything we can come up with that is not related to last night. I’d prefer to talk about it for once, but I don’t want to push him. If it’s time he needs, I will give it to him. I sigh when I realize I might be waiting a long time if I leave it up to him to make a move.

When we reach High Spy, it’s closer to dinner time than lunch. The temperature is still surprisingly high though and we’re both covered in a thin layer of sweat. We drop our bags to the ground and take our shirts off before sitting down and attacking our lunch. Or dinner. Whatever.

For the next half hour or so, we enjoy our food and rest our legs. We talk, we tease each other, bump shoulders, punch arms. When we’ve finished eating, I stand up and stretch. Derek’s eyes are on my stomach, and the piece of skin visible there, adorned by part of my treasure trail. I drop my arms and he quickly looks away.

Katy Perry’s _Hot ‘n Cold_ starts playing in the back of my mind.

Derek clears his throat and starts cleaning up, putting our things back in our bags before standing up as well. He turns away from me to admire the view, starts stretching as well. I shamelessly check him out, but unlike him, I act on my thoughts and step closer. I reach out and gently rest my hand on his hip, letting my thumb brush against the exposed skin there.

He immediately drops his arms and looks around for people; for anyone who might have seen what I just did, harmless as it was.

He swallows and meets my eyes. “Not here.”

Well I have to say, that’s a better reaction than I was hoping for. I let go and live up to my reputation by doing something bold.

“You want to go back?”

I don’t say the literal words, but I know Derek knows exactly what I’m implying. He looks conflicted, but then finally nods slowly.

“Yeah.”

 

#

 

When we get back to camp the kids are in the middle of a water fight. The moment they spot us they attack, leaving us soaking wet. I’m not sure whether to yell at them or thank them. We escape to the trainers’ lodge and head up to our room, getting out of the wet clothes the second the door has closed behind us. And then we’re standing there, both of us naked as the day we were born.

To my surprise, it’s Derek who makes the first move. He steps into my space and lightly touches my hips with the tips of his fingers, slowly trailing them up and down. I shudder and place my hands on his arms, squeezing gently.

“Are you sure you want this? You’ve been giving me mixed signals all day.”

“Yeah,” he winces. “Sorry about that.”

“No need. I can imagine what you’re going through right now.”

He nods and accompanies it with a big sigh. “Yeah.” He licks his lips, then meets my eyes. “Look Stiles . . . I like what we did last night.” He pauses and looks down at his hardening dick. “We both did.”

I suppress my desire to snort. God, he’s such a dork.

“Take a shower with me?” I ask, smiling at him.

He grins back. “I like the sound of that.”

Derek follows me into the bathroom and waits behind me as I turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature of the water until it’s comfortable. I take his hand and tug him into the shower with me. I turn around and am met with a smiling Derek. I don’t know who moves first, but the next moment we’re kissing.

Our lips glide together in a sinful way. Hands find skin and our bodies are all but plastered against each other. The warm glide of the water ads a whole new dimension to us making out and soon enough we’re both hard, grinding against each other.

One of my hands slides to his ass. I give it a firm squeeze before letting a finger slide between his cheeks. Derek gasps, but doesn’t stop me.

“Have you ever fingered yourself?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Wanna try now?” I ask, dragging my lips across his throat, then his collarbone and back again.

“Sure.” He shudders when I let my finger drag against his hole and lets his head fall onto my shoulder. I smile and kiss the side of his head, slowly rubbing my finger against him, massaging him.

He gasps again. “Shouldn’t you use, like, soap or something before going in there?”

I chuckle. “I can do you one better.” I lean back and grab a bottle of conditioner I keep in here. I open the cap and coat my fingers with the clear substance.

“Is that . . .?” Derek looks at my fingers, a question in his eyes. I wink at him and he sends me a flat look. “Of course it is. I shouldn’t be surprised you keep a disguised bottle of lube in here, should I?”

I laugh and bring my fingers back to his ass. “No, you really should have known better.”

I massage his hole again and revel in the soft moan he lets out. I kiss him again and let the tip of one finger slip inside. Man, he’s going to love this.

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

 

Who knew my sex life was ever going to get this adventurous? I mean it was never exactly boring before, but this is something else entirely. I’m making out with Stiles in the shower and there’s a finger slowly entering my ass. My _best friend’s finger_ is in there. What even is my life anymore?

Not that I have any desire to stop it. It feels a bit weird at first, slightly uncomfortable, but once I get used to the new feeling it actually feels sort of nice. It’s good. Stiles starts moving his finger then and oh– yeah, okay, that – fuck, that’s nice. I moan and let my head drop to his shoulder.

“Fuck, look at you baby,” he whispers, making me shudder. He’s never called me that before, not in a sexual situation at least, but I think I like it.

Stiles leans back a little and I look up in time to see the mischievous look in his eyes. Before I can open my mouth to ask what he’s up to, he drops to his knees and envelops my dick with his mouth. He looks up at me and starts sucking, the finger in my ass still moving.

It feels _fantastic_.

I groan and lean my head back while Stiles does his thing. He moves one of my hands to his hair and tugs my hips forward, giving me silent permission to fuck his face. I can’t say no to an offer like that, now can I? I let out another shameless moan and start moving my hips, fucking his face and bearing down on the finger in my ass at the same time. My eyes roll back inside my head a little.

_So fucking good._

I’m amazed by how easy it is, this thing between us. It’s hot, yes, but it’s also fun, and it’s still _us_. A few more thrusts later and I’m coming down Stiles’ throat. My thighs are shaking and I’m panting heavily, glad Stiles is there to keep me standing. He stands back up and wraps his arms securely around me, kisses me again.

“Can I blow you?” I ask when I have my breath back. I realize I would really like to do that again.

Stiles laughs. “Do you even have to ask?”

I drop to my knees and take him into my mouth, as far as I comfortably can. I don’t have the skills for this yet. It’s thrilling to think that I will one day. I let my hands wander, feeling Stiles up; his hairy legs, muscled thighs. His firm ass. I love the sounds coming out of his mouth, love it even more that I’m the reason for them.

“Der, ‘m close,” he warns me with a tap on my shoulder.

I lean back and shrug, say “okay” and go right back to sucking him off. He swears and a minute later I’m swallowing his come. I don’t get everything, and I’m still getting used to the taste, but I’ll get used to it. If it’s up to me, I’ll get a lot of practice this summer.

I stand up and we kiss some more. Stiles’ strong arms are around me, and I’m holding him close in turn. I brush my lips against his one more time and then nuzzle my head against his throat, leaving random kisses while Stiles trails his fingers down my back. Damn, this is nice.

“I was watching gay porn,” I admit some time later. “When you were gone.”

He hums, continues tickling my back.

“Have you ever bottomed?” I ask.

“Yeah, a couple of times. I prefer topping though.”

I frown. “Why?” I just had an amazing orgasm with just one finger in my ass, I can’t imagine how good something bigger will feel.

He shrugs. “Let’s just say not every man out there takes stretching as seriously as I do.”

I wince and he huffs out a laugh. “Yeah. It wasn’t great. I mean it starts feeling better after a while, good even, but . . . yeah. I’d let you do it though, if you wanted to.” He pauses and his voice is quiet when he opens his mouth again. “I’d let you do anything.”

I remain silent and trace a pattern on his back with my fingers, wondering about what we are to each other. I don’t feel like we can say we’re ‘just friends’ anymore, but we’re not exactly entering relationship territory yet either. Stiles sighs.

“We should get out before the water turns cold.”

I hum. “Soon.”

Stiles chuckles and kisses the side of my head, gives my ass a quick slap. “Come on, big guy.”

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

 

 

Before I know it, another week has passed and my second weekend at Elites has arrived. It’s Saturday and Jackson will be here any moment. I’m waiting for him at the entrance and roll my eyes when I spot his Porsche coming up the driveway. I direct him to the parking lot and meet him there.

Jackson gets out of his car and smirks at me. “Barely two weeks apart and already you’re begging to be reunited with me. I’m touched.”

“What can I say, I’m quite attached to your ugly face.” Jackson scoffs and I chuckle. “Now come here and give me a hug, you prick.”

“So bossy,” he mutters, but steps into my space and gives me a quick, one-armed hug all the same. He gets his bag from the trunk and we walk back to the entrance, from which I guide him to the main lodge so he can meet Bobby.

He looks around with a smile, taking in his first expression of the place I called home every summer when I was still a teenager.

“What do you think?” I ask, holding open the door of the lodge for him.

“Looks nice,” he says, whistling under his breath as he checks out the interior of the lodge. I’ve been here so many times that I don’t realize how impressive this place actually is anymore, but Jackson’s reaction right now reminds me that it is.

We find Bobby in his office and I introduce the two. Bobby looks relieved to see he’s finally here, probably glad he’ll finally have the Martin women off his back.

“Thanks for coming on such short notice,” Bobby thanks him, shaking his hand. “I really appreciate it.”

“Sure, no problem.”

We take a seat while Jackson gives Bobby his personal information and financial details and I lean back in my chair, waiting until they’re done.

“So how is this coaching thing going to work?” Jackson asks when the paperwork is out of the way.

“Well, Stiles probably already told you, but you’ll be a personal coach for a last-minute student we received. You can use whatever facilities you deem necessary and make your own schedule.”

Jackson hums and frowns in my direction. I clear my throat and stand up, sending him a goofy smile as I point my thumb at the door.

“Why don’t I introduce you to your student?”

“Good idea,” Bobby agrees, shuffling some papers on his desk. “Oh, and if you see Derek, tell him to come by for a second, I need to discuss some things about the goalies with him.”

“Will do,” I say and lead Jackson back outside.

“So,” he drawls. “Personal coaching, huh?”

I shrug. “Yeah, it’s kind of a long story, but I figured you had nothing better to do and you’re a decent enough player, so . . .”

“Gee, thanks.”

I grin. “You’re welcome.”

We reach the trainers’ lodge and I lead him to Lydia’s room, knocking to let her know we’re here. The door opens a few moments later and I press my lips together to keep from laughing at Jackson’s slack-jawed expression.

“Holy mother –,” Jackson swears under his breath and I elbow him to cut him off, then wink at Lydia as a greeting. She’s wearing a crop-top and shorts that hug her ass phenomenally. Because it’s really hot outside today. I had nothing to do with this, pinkie-promise.

“Lydia’s fine,” she says and smiles up at him, biting her lip to keep from laughing. Or to be flirtatious, I wouldn’t know. Honestly, I’m okay with either.

He wrings the back of his neck and smiles awkwardly back at her. “Ah, yeah, that –”

“What Jackson’s trying to say is ‘hi, so good to see you again, how are you, new coach at your service,’” I finish for him, smiling gleefully all the way.

Jackson seems to remember me standing next to him and gives Lydia an apologetic look. “Excuse us for a moment.” She nods and he drags me to the end of the hall, out of earshot of the red-head.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” he hisses at me and I school my expression into one of innocence.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.” He pokes me in the chest. “I’m on to you.”

I flick his nose and he scowls at me, making me chuckle. “You’re seeing ghosts.”

“You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“You –,”

“Boys?” Lydia interrupts us. “Everything alright over there?”

“I- yeah, we were just, we’re fine –,” Jackson stumbles over his words and I snort, gently pushing him in Lydia’s direction. It’s going to be the start of something beautiful, I can feel it.

 

#

 

Jackson and I have dinner in town after I show him around for a bit. Later that night, after Jackson is settled into his own room – conveniently located next to Lydia’s – I go back to the room I share with Derek and find him lying on his bed on his stomach, doing something on his phone.

I go over there and straddle his ass. I let my hands rest lightly on his back and start drawing on it with gentle fingers like I know he loves. I have to stop myself from drawing something corny like a heart or something, because as much as it would be the truth, Derek can’t know. This thing between us, whatever it is, has an expiration date that ends in three weeks.

“What are you doing?” I ask conversationally.

“Just texting.”

I chance a look over his shoulder and see that he’s texting Paige. The name alone makes me feel jealous. I plaster myself to Derek’s back and aim for a casual tone.

“What is she up to?”

“Nothing much. She volunteers at the library a few hours a week, but other than that she’s just lounging around and enjoying the summer.”

I nod. “Cool.”

It’s not cool, though. Ugh, of course she would be one of those nice people who are into volunteer work. She has that in common with Derek, and she’s also fucking beautiful and way too perfect and just. . . I already mentioned I’m jealous, right?

Derek must notice, of course he does, because he sends me a quick smile over his shoulder to reassure me.

“Don’t worry, we’re not fucking anymore. Paige and I are just friends.”

Right. Isn’t that what we were supposed to be too, though? I sigh and nuzzle his shoulder, revelling in the contented noise he lets out.

“Want to try something different today?” I ask a few minutes later.

“Like what?”

“Well, straight men usually tend to ignore this little fact, but men have a G-spot too. I think it’s about time you get acquainted with yours.”

Derek fumbles with his phone and drops it. I chuckle and start trailing kisses on his neck.

“Okay,” he nods, pushing his ass back against my crotch. I hum in approval and press back against him. After a moment, I sit up and take off my shirt. Derek sends me an impatient look over his shoulder and bucks his hips, groaning when I let more of my weight lean on his ass, making him unable to get up. “Please move,” he groans again.

I laugh, but do as he asks. Barely a minute later, we’re both naked and lying on the bed, my tongue tangled with his in a passionate kiss as we rut against each other. I break away from him to get the lube and open him up slowly, working him open until I can comfortably use two fingers. Derek is lying back against the pillows, one arm behind his head and the other playing with my hair. His cock is lying flushed and hard against his stomach and he’s panting, his eyes trained on where my fingers keep disappearing inside his ass.

I grin and start mouthing at his balls, delving my fingers deeper. I feel around and know exactly when I’ve hit the jackpot.

“ _Holy fuck_ ,” Derek gasps loudly, his fingers tightening in my hair as his thighs spasm.

I nuzzle his balls and then leave a trail of kisses on one of his thighs. “Told you it’d be good.”

He chokes out a laugh. “Understatement.”

I chuckle and go back to sucking at his balls, keep rubbing my fingers gently against his prostate. I want to drag the pleasure out for him, make him ride this high for as long as possible. I look up to see he’s flushed all the way down to his chest, looking at me with half-lidded eyes. He swears when his eyes meet mine.

“Fuck, give me more.”

 I’m about to add another finger, assuming that’s what he wants, when Derek touches my wrist to make me stop.

“No, I mean . . .” He wets his lips. “I want you to fuck me.”

 _Oh sweet baby Jesus_.

Only six little words, but they’re enough to induce an inner freak-out, because I have fantasized about this moment so many times and I fucking want it so bad, but I _know_ it would mean something to me while it won’t to Derek. Never to Derek.

Can I really do this? I look at the man beneath me, so fucking beautiful like this and shit. Go big or go home, right?

“Stiles?” he asks, unsure, and I realize my fingers have stopped moving.

“Sorry,” I start pumping them again and give his thigh an apologetic kiss. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I whisper and remove my fingers from his ass, climbing off the bed to quickly get a condom from my bedside drawer.

I get back and drape myself over his body, kissing him senseless for a few minutes and loving the feeling of his arms around me. I vow that I’m going to make this good for him, and that I’ll do my absolute best not to make it hurt.

My fingers return to his ass and I finger him some more until I’m sure he’s ready to take my dick. I put on the condom and line myself up, slowly pressing inside. Derek hisses and I stop.

“You good?”

He takes a moment, but then nods. “Yeah, keep going.”

I do, pressing into the tight heat of his body, loving every little moan Derek lets out in the process. Once I’m fully inside, I bend down and kiss him again. When he doesn’t complain about any pain or discomfort, I slowly start thrusting in and out.

And it feels _so. fucking. good.  
_

I have had sex with my fair share of men, but this, _Derek_ , is more than amazing. He’s coming undone underneath me, moaning beautifully and I have to remind myself that we’re just two friends fucking. We’re not making love, but damn it, it’s hard to remember that right now.

“Fuck, you feel so good baby.”

Derek groans and fists his cock, roughly jerking himself off until he’s coming between us. The sight of him and his ass clenching around my dick tips me over the edge too and I fill the condom with a lewd moan.

After we’ve gotten our breaths back and cleaned up, we throw our mattresses on the floor to create a bigger space to sleep on. Derek is lying on his side and I shuffle up behind him, putting an arm around his chest and pulling him against my body.

“Doesn’t this go against the fuck-buddy system?”

Ouch. I know that’s what we are, but that doesn’t mean I have to like facing the reality of it. Spoiler-alert: I hate it.

“If we’re already fuck buddies and best buddies, cuddle buddies shouldn’t be such a stretch for you. We used to live in each other’s space when we were kids too.”

Derek shrugs. “Sure, I guess.”

Okay, now I just feel awkward. I start to move away from him, hesitant. “Unless you don’t want to. You can tell me, that’s fine too.”

He drags me back and manhandles me into a comfortable spooning position. “Shut up and give me cuddles, Stilinski.”

I _giggle_. Damn, the things this guy makes me do, seriously. I sigh and nuzzle against his neck, leaving a soft kiss right beneath his hairline. I know it’s not a lot, and I know it has to end in a couple of weeks, but I’m happy I at least got this night with him.

 

 

#

 

**Derek**

A few days after Stiles and I had sex finds me on the pitch with a big smile on my face. Not because of the sex, though that is definitely something to smile about and also definitely something I would like to do again. It had felt amazing and I’m craving more.

The reason for my smile isn’t Stiles, though. It’s because of the kids. I’m happy to see they’re finally all coming together; they’re starting to play like a team. The strikers Stiles has been training have finally started to listen to his advice too and are doing great. I’m actually pretty proud of him. And my goalie Carter is able to keep his temper in check nowadays too, even when Lewis starts messing with him.

I love seeing their progress, and I love being part of the reason behind it. Coaching these kids every summer makes me happy and I’m thankful I get the chance to do it every year. The kids are currently playing a match against each other with Stiles as the referee. I catch his eyes and he grins at me, and I smile back. I sigh contentedly. I really am happy.

Naturally, that’s when it all goes to shit.

The first thing I notice is Stiles’ face falling as he looks at something over my shoulder. The second thing I notice is Carter’s – who’s standing right beside me – sharp intake of breath. I look up to see what he’s looking at, my eyes drawn to the person standing beside the dugout, calling my name and waving sweetly.

_Paige?_

“Wow Coach, your girlfriend is hot,” Carter muses.

“Wha – she’s not,” I stammer, but he just shakes his head and puts his hand on my shoulder.

“No need to be embarrassed, Coach. Like, seriously –”

“Okay shut it,” I scowl, turning my head when Stiles appears at my side.

Paige is calling my name again though, like she isn’t sure if I’ve noticed her yet, and my head swivels back in her direction. I had seen her standing there of course, but it hadn’t sunk in yet that _Paige is here_. Why in the world would she be here?

I am vaguely aware of Stiles talking beside me, but I can’t hear him, too stunned by the turn of events. I blink and suddenly Paige is standing in front of us, addressing Stiles.

“Hey, Miles right? I remember you.”

Stiles sends her a smile that only I know is fake.

“It’s Stiles actually, but yeah, I remember you too.”

I bet he does. Crap, this is going to go horribly wrong isn’t it? As if on cue, Stiles says: “I’m sure your girl didn’t come here to watch us boys play football all afternoon. You should get her out of here, show her around.”

Paige smiles at me. “That’s a great idea.”

I have no idea what’s happening, but I think it’s best to get Paige far away from Stiles at least. I can clearly feel the tension between them and I want to put an end to it before it escalates any further than it already has.

I guide Paige away from the pitch and toward the direction of the main lodge. When we’ve reached it, she lightly tugs on my hand and I turn around to face her.

“Der?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?” she asks. “You haven’t even greeted me yet.”

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” I tell her, pulling her into a quick hug before stepping back. “Hi.”

“Hey yourself.”

“Sorry, I just,” I pause. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“Visiting you?” she asks, stating the obvious.

Yeah, I got that part already. What I would like to know is why. A few days ago she was talking about volunteering more hours at the library and now she’s here? It just doesn’t make sense to me. I sigh and run a hand through my hair, then gesture at the lodge.

“You want something to drink?”

“Sure, that’d be nice.”

She follows me inside and into the kitchen, where I get us both a coke from the fridge. I hand one to her and lean back against the counter, watching her. She catches my gaze and shyly pushes her hair behind her ear, looking up at me through her lashes. Oh boy.

“What are you really doing here, Paige?”

“I just. . . I missed you, you know?”

“Yeah. . .”

The next thing I know is her lips pressed to mine, kissing me and waiting for me to respond. A few weeks ago, I probably would have kissed her back. Now, I lean back, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward.

“Uhm. Wow, look Paige –”

“What is it, baby?”

And okay, that word now just completely rubs me the wrong way, because it’s coming from the wrong mouth. Not that me and Stiles are a thing, but . . . God damn it, this is becoming way too complicated for my taste.

She bites her lip, scuffing the toe of her shoe against the ground. “Is there someone else?”

“Kind of?” I shrug, not sure how to explain that I’m fucking my best maybe-more-than-friends friend these days. “We can still be friends though, right?”

She sighs and gives me a sad smile. “Yeah. Of course. Honestly, you’ve been clear about not wanting a relationship with me from the beginning, I just. . . yeah.”

“Sorry,” I say, still kind of awkward.

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, how about I take you out to dinner in town?” I offer. “We can catch up a bit, if you’d like.”

“Sounds good. I’d say we can just eat here with everyone else, but I’m not sure I’d be able to handle all the testosterone.”

I’m grateful for her teasing tone, glad she’s letting it go and just acting like my friend instead of my ex fuck-buddy.

“You know, we actually have a girl this year.”

“What?” she chuckles.

I offer her my arm and smile at her when she winds her own through it, then lead her towards the door.

“That’s a funny story, actually. . .”

 

#

 

We browse through a couple of shops before looking for a diner, although I’ll probably just take her to _Penelope’s_. In one of the shops she’s dragged me into – because yes, that’s what it has come to – I stumble upon blue skittles. I don’t even think about it; I just buy them. They’re for Stiles, obviously, as an apology of sorts. I’m not sure what I’d be apologizing for exactly, this whole situation with Paige probably, but then again it’s not like it’s my fault.

Yet I just . . . want to do something nice for him. From one friend to another. I start thinking about labels again. ‘Friends’ doesn’t feel like enough anymore, but I know we can’t be more either, because when we’re leaving Derwentwater we’re going to play for different Premier League teams and who knows when we will see each other again?

I take Paige to the diner and I almost run into Trish as we enter. Her eyes widen when she sees me and I snort.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t bring him with me this time.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Paige and I take a seat at one of the booths and she raises an eyebrow at me. “What was that about?”

“Stiles,” I grin. “Long story.”

“Okay,” she laughs and shakes her head. I’m glad we can still be friends without it being awkward. I may not want to be in a relationship with her, but that doesn’t mean I want to lose her as a friend. We talk about Everton and she asks me if I’m excited to go.

“Yeah,” I nod, trailing off. Because here’s the thing: I’m having doubts about it. Of course I’m happy and honoured that Everton wants to have me on their team, even if it’s only as third-string goalie. Everybody needs to start somewhere, right? But. . . seeing Stiles these past few weeks, seeing how passionate he is about going pro and how serious he takes it. . . it makes me wonder.

“To be honest, I’m not sure I really want to go anymore,” I admit.

She looks surprised. “Really? How come?”

I explain the situation to her and how I’m feeling about it, or how I’m _not_ feeling about it, and she just listens. She doesn’t try to give me a pep-talk, doesn’t push for anything. She’s just being there for me, and again I’m grateful to have her as a friend. She tells me she’s going to spend the night in a hotel and she’s going to leave the next morning. I can honestly tell her that I’ll miss her. I almost wish I was in love with her, but I’m really not. I wonder why. I wonder if things would be easier with her than. . . oh well.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

Un – _fucking –_ believable.

The day was going so well. The team was doing great, my strikers finally listened to me, Derek and I were in a really good place and then _she_ shows up. It’s like she’s always there, waiting on the side-lines for the perfect moment to drive me and Derek apart.

I might be overreacting. I do not care. Derek told me he and Paige weren’t screwing around anymore, but I saw the way he looked at her when she showed up today, okay? More importantly, I noticed how I became practically invisible the moment his eyes settled on her and her perfect everything.

When Derek and Paige have left the pitch, I finish practice in a sour mood. When I’m done with that, I have dinner with the kids and the other coaches, not surprised Paige and Derek aren’t there. I go up to our room to sulk for a bit, but quickly get annoyed with myself and head over to Jackson’s room instead.

He takes one look at me when he opens the door and groans.

“What the hell did you do this time Stilinski?”

I bristle, feeling offended. “Why does it always have to be something _I_ did?”

Jackson narrows his eyes at me, assessing me for a moment.

“Do I need to beat someone up for you?”

“No, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

“Wanna get drunk?”

I let out a heavy sigh. “ _Yes_.”

He turns around so he can shout back into the room. “Hey Lyds? I’m going out with Stiles for a bit!”

I raise an eyebrow at him. “Lyds? Nicknames already?”

Then Lydia comes out of the bathroom. In only a towel. My eyebrows climb up my forehead, and Jackson points a finger in my face in warning.

“Don’t say it.”

I hold up my hands, grinning. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

#

 

We go to a pub, the same one I went to with Derek our first weekend here. Jackson orders a couple of beers for us and makes me sit at a table.

“Talk.”

That’s all the prompting I need to tell him everything. I tell him about Derek and I being friends again, about our first kiss, about everything else we’ve done since. I tell him how hopelessly in love I am with the guy and how he’s my weakness, that I can’t say no to whatever it is between us. Jackson listens to it all and just keeps handing me another beer whenever the previous one is empty.

“I know I’ve told you this before,” he says after beer number six, “but you’re an idiot.”

“Gee, loving the tough-love buddy.”

He squeezes my shoulder, then pats me on the back. “Come on, let’s get you back to camp.”

 

#

 

The walk back home sobers me up a bit and when Jackson drops me off at my room, I’m barely tipsy. I find Derek already asleep, and thankfully alone. I have no idea where Paige is then, but I honestly can’t bring myself to care. The room is lit only in moonlight, but it’s enough for me to see the box lying on my bed.

Let me clarify that. I can see _the_ box lying on my bed. I open it gingerly and look at the blue skittles inside. My first reaction is to feel happy, almost instinctual after so many years. But then I start thinking; why now?

My mind immediately goes to Paige and I huff in disappointment. Of course. He must feel guilty or something, why else would he suddenly return the box and fill it with my favourite candy? I scoff and throw the box on the chest of drawers against the wall with a heavy thud.

Derek startles awake and his eyes look around for the source of the noise. His eyes find mine, then the discarded box. He scowls and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like ‘of course’. I huff, feeling pissed, and go to the bathroom to do my business and get ready for bed. Derek is silent when I get back, but keeps stealing glances in my direction.

“What?!” I snap, agitated.

“What?” he repeats, incredulous. “Where the hell were you?”

“What do you care?”

“Wh– seriously Stiles? You’re gonna be like this?”

I choke out an ugly laugh. “Right, of course it’s my fault. No way that it would ever be _perfect_ Derek Hale’s fault! Nooo, you can do nothing wrong! Even if she shows up right after you told me you guys weren’t seeing each other anymore. Even though you totally _ditched me_ today!”

“Stiles, I told you,” he snaps. “ _Nothing’s happening between me and Paige._ She’s just a really good friend that I used to fuck for a while. Just like us! Stop being so fucking jealous all the time!”

Ouch. Twist the knife, why don’t you.

“Well what the fuck did you expect Derek?” I hiss. “I don’t know what the hell you want from me! I mean, one moment we’re great and the moment that girl shows up it’s like I don’t even exist anymore! For all I know you two have been spending the day in bed!”

Derek gets up then, enraged. “Are you fucking serious right now? A; _nothing_ happened and I made it very clear to her that we’re through. And B: _You_ were the one who went out to party tonight, not me!”

“Yeah, party with _Jackson_! And what a ‘party’ it was! Poor guy just kept feeding me beers while I whined on and on about you!”

“I – really?”

“Yes,” I huff, petulantly crossing my arms. “Happy now?”

He heaves a deep sigh. “No. I hate fighting with you. Again.”

I throw my hands up in exasperation. “Then why do we keep doing it?”

He shrugs, apparently just as clueless about the answer as I am. I cross to the chest of drawers and pick up the box, then join Derek on the mattresses on the floor and hold it out to him after taking a handful of skittles myself.

He raises an eyebrow at me. “Stiles Stilinski sharing his skittles with someone else? Just how much did you drink exactly?”

“Shut up you dick, it’s a peace offering. Take it or leave it.”

Derek sends me a boyish grin and takes his own handful before popping them into his mouth.

“I’m sorry for being a jealous asshole.”

He shrugs. “I get it. I didn’t like the thought of you with someone else tonight either.”

That gets me to smile. “Okay.” I pause. “We do need some rules for this thing though, before it blows up in our faces _again_.”

“Like no fooling around with anyone else?” he asks, pulling me close and trailing a warm hand over my back, then my ass, giving it a quick squeeze.

I laugh fondly. “Yeah.”

“Done. Anything else?”

Yes. This may be one of the toughest things I’ve ever had to do. It’s like taking a bite out of your favourite cookie and then putting it back in the cookie jar forever. It has to happen though. It needs to be out in the open, so we’re both clear of what to expect.

“It ends when we go to training camp at the end of summer.”

My voice is barely able to remain steady. God, I’m pathetic. Derek nods, though.

“That’s probably for the best.”

Double ouch.

“Yeah.”

He sighs. “Come here.” He pulls me close again and continues the soothing strokes on my back, smiling softly at me and brushing his nose gently against mine. As if I wasn’t in love enough with him already. I kiss him, just a quick thing. He chaises after me and for a while we exchange sweet little kisses. Eventually we fall asleep, his strong arms around me. I’ve never been more comfortable. More content. Happy, even. Too bad I have to let him go in three weeks.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I missed you guys, have fun reading, I'll see you in the end notes :)
> 
> WARNING for some homophobic language near the end!

 

#5 – _July, Elites Football Camp (weeks 4 and 5)_

**Derek**

 

It’s week four of camp, the first week of July, when I randomly use my laptop to check if I have any new emails. I find that I do and I open it, staring at the message in trepidation. It’s from my agent, with details about my contract with Everton. He also wants to know when I’m planning to move to Liverpool so he knows when to arrange accommodation for me until I’ve found my own place.

It’s like reality just slapped me in the face. My life is about to change completely and I can’t ignore it any longer. Because let’s face it, that’s what I’ve been doing these past few weeks. Probably longer, if I’m being honest.

Before I can think twice about it, I open Skype to call my family. I’m not sure if I want to talk to them about this yet, but they’ll at least take my mind off the panic that I can feel rising up in my chest. Only my oldest sister Lena is online, and I find myself eager to talk to her. With everything else going on in my life right now, I keep forgetting how close she is to having her baby.

“Derek!” she beams at me when she answers the video call. “It’s so good to see you sweetie!”

I chuckle. “Hey yourself. How are you and the little one doing?”

“We are absolutely fine, thank you. Speaking of, you’re still coming home for a bit before you move to Liverpool, right? Because this kid is about to pop out soon and I need my baby brother to be there for it.”

“I really hope you don’t mean that literally,” I mutter, trying to hide my grimace at the thought of watching my sister give birth.

“What, you shy away from the biological wonder that is childbirth? So disappointing. And here I thought you’d be my rock through it all . . .” she trails off with a sigh.

“You have a husband. Use him.”

“Fine, I guess he’ll have to do.”

I chuckle. “To answer your question though, I’m not sure yet. I’ll have to check with Bobby if he can miss a coach at the end of the month.”

Her husband Mitch appears on screen and greets me, taking a seat next to Lena. “I bet you can’t wait to start at Everton, hm?

“Yeah.”

“Whoa, don’t sound too excited there.”

I sigh. “I don’t know, just nervous I guess. Lots of changes all of a sudden.

Lena gives me the same look that our mom does sometimes and I sigh again. “What?”

“This might be a stupid question but, humour me okay?”

“Okay . . .”

“Do you really want to be a goalie?”

“Of course.”

“No, I mean – Do you really want to be a goalkeeper for the rest of your life? Is this like, the future you want? Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you will be happy if you move to Everton in a few weeks?”

“I – yeah,” I hesitate. “It’s what I’ve always dreamed of. I’m sure I’ll love it once I’m settled there.” I pause and shrug. “Besides, what else would I do?”

She nods, but Mitch tilts his head to the side in thought and then, like it’s nothing, he says: “Well, you could always coach.”

I’m pretty sure my world _stops_ for a moment.

“What?”

“Yeah, I mean you’ve been coaching at Elites for the past four years, so you’ve got the experience. You’re good with the kids, from what I hear. And you love the job, right?”

“I – yeah, but that’s . . . it can’t be that simple. I’d need some kind of degree for that, right? And who would even hire me? Compared to most coaches I’m young and inexperienced.”

“I don’t know the logistics of it, but if it’s something you’re passionate about, more than the position as goalie, than I think it’s worth a shot, right?”

“He’s right Derek,” Lena says. “Just think about it, ‘kay? I don’t want you to have any regrets later. Maybe you should talk to Bobby?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks guys.”

I sign off and lean back in my chair, letting out a deep breath.

Holy. Shit.

 

#

 

I decide to talk with Bobby that same day. Stiles has already started his training for today, but me and my goalies only start in about an hour from now, so I might as well use my time wisely. So now I’m sitting in front of Bobby’s desk in his office.

“Are you going to tell me what’s up, or are you going to sit there and look constipated all day?” the man asks in amusement.

Right. Here goes nothing.

“Do you,” I swallow and clear my throat. “Do you think I could be a coach? Like . . . fulltime?”

Bobby hums, calmly watching me while I nervously wait for his reaction.

“Well,” he says, folding his hands together and resting his chin on them. “Took you long enough.”

“Huh?”

He chuckles. “Kid, I’ve seen a lot of talented football players at this camp through the years. Most of them keep playing for fun for as long as life lets them. Some of them are lucky enough to make it to the pros. And _then_ there’s the few players with a talent for the other side of the sport.”

“Coaching.”

“Yup. Hale, I’ve had my suspicions for a couple years now. I knew you had a knack for coaching from the start. But seeing you and Stilinski this summer, the way he’s so focused on his career and I haven’t heard you speak a word about it . . . it’s pretty obvious your heart isn’t really in it.”

“How would that work, though?” I ask warily. I just don’t believe it can be this simple.

“I can give some of my friends in the business some recommendations to hire you, ask around a bit if anyone’s looking. Universities might want you too.”

I nod slowly and finally let myself think about a possible future as coach. It would provide me with a steady income, one good enough to live from. And Bobby, my sister and Mitch, they’re all right; I _am_ more passionate about this than being a full-time goalie.

An idea strikes me and I bite my lip, wondering if this will be a positive thing or end in disaster.

“Do you know if anyone is looking for a coach in Southampton?”

 

#

 

I’m not sure how this happened, or what is even happening here in the first place but . . . I think I just made plans to go on a date with Stiles? Well, a double date with Jackson and Lydia, but still. Lydia had suddenly been standing next to me while I was coaching my goalies, innocently asking if I had plans tonight. I told her I didn’t. Next thing I know is her telling me to be ready at six because apparently the four of us are going out tonight.

I may be freaking out a little bit.

I look at my reflection in the mirror, idly trying to fix my hair, and jump when Stiles appears behind me to do the same.

“This isn’t weird, right?” he asks, making a face. “I mean, I know we’re not actually dating but I couldn’t say no to Lydia, ‘cause like, she’s kinda scary you know?”

“No, yeah no. It’s fine. I get it.”

He nods. “Good.”

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.” He grins at me and I can’t help but smile back.

We meet Lydia and Jackson downstairs and take Jackson’s car to drive to town. We have dinner first. Not at _Penelope’s_ for once, since apparently that place is a bit beneath Lydia’s taste, but at a pretty fancy restaurant that makes me feel somewhat uncomfortable. This really doesn’t look like a venue within my budget zone. I share a look with Stiles, and I know he knows how I feel. He’s about to open his mouth to say something, but Jackson speaks up before he gets the chance.

“Don’t worry, we’re paying.”

“That’s not –” “No you’re not,” Stiles and I protest at the same time.

Lydia rolls her eyes and gestures to Jackson to hold the door for them. “Shut up and get inside the restaurant, boys.”

My eyes automatically search for Stiles’ again, looking for reassurance or guidance on how to handle to situation. Lydia huffs.

“Seriously, _go_.”

We go. I swallow a groan when I enter, feeling incredibly out of place. And underdressed. I wonder if this is going to be one of those places where I don’t even know what half of the food on the menu _is_.

“This will be fun,” Stiles mumbles beside me and I grin. Fun indeed.

In the end, the food isn’t that bad. It’s actually pretty good. The prices though, not so much. They offered to pay for us though, so I’m keeping my mouth shut. I know I was unsure before, but I actually find myself enjoying this double date thing. Jackson and Lydia are surprisingly cool people to hang out with. Until they’re done with the food and they start giving each other heart-eyes. And then sex-eyes. O-kay now they’re hands are wandering and –

Stiles clears his throat and I sigh in relief when the two love-birds put some space between them.

After dinner, Lydia wants to go to the drive-in theatre that’s set up in town for the summer. She and Jackson have drifted towards one another again, his hand dangerously low on her back. Once again, I find myself looking at Stiles. He’s already watching me and his eyes are screaming at me to _do something_!

“You know what,” I say slowly, continuing when Stiles gives me a quick nod, “why don’t you two just go together. They show the same movie every year, so Stiles and I have already seen it.”

It’s not entirely true, but . . . desperate measures.

“Are you sure?” Jackson asks, looking at me and then Stiles. He sounds genuine, but I don’t miss the way his fingers flex on Lydia’s hip.

“Yeah man, totally. Me and Der will just hit a bar or something.”

They part ways and Stiles waits for them to be out of earshot before opening his mouth.

“Oh my _God_.”

I snort. “No kidding.”

“Seriously, I was afraid they were going to start banging each other any moment.” He makes a face. “Although if that’s their form of foreplay, they could learn a lot from us.”

I choose to ignore the way my face heats up at that comment. Instead I try to not make this awkward, because we were on a kind of double date, but now one couple left and we are alone. Together. Just the two of us. Which is nothing new, but still.

“So what do you want to do now it’s just the two of us?” Stiles asks.

“We could go to the movies or something?” I suggest, because just because we didn’t want to go with Lydia and Jackson doesn’t mean we can’t watch a movie ourselves. “It’s still early.”

“Great idea,” he grins, offering me his arm. “M’lady.”

“Call me a lady again and I will cut off your balls in your sleep.”

He laughs, throwing his head back in delight. “No you wouldn’t. You’d miss them too much.”

Damn it, he’s got a point.

He’s still offering me his arm and I swat him on the back of his head to make him drop it. He chuckles and nudges my shoulder, but then we finally start walking. When we join the line in front of the ticket booth, he gets his wallet out. I move to do the same, but he stops me with a hand on my arm.

“My treat.”

I frown. “You don’t have to. I do have _some_ money you know.”

“I know,” he says, smiling fondly. “But I insist.”

“That’s so sweet.”

Those words didn’t come from my mouth. I was thinking them, but I’m pretty sure I didn’t say them. I look up and catch the eyes of the girl selling the tickets. She’s smiling at me and Stiles like we’re the cutest thing she’s seen all day.

I realize then that she thinks Stiles and I are together. Like we’re a _couple_. And like I’m gay. Which I am, partly, but this is the first time that strangers realize it too. It’s an odd feeling. Not bad, per se. Just . . . new.

Stiles ushers me along before I start overthinking things and after buying some snacks, we enter the screening room. Our seats are in the back, almost all the way into the left corner. Stiles turns around to smirk at me when he realizes it too and I roll my eyes at him, muttering a ‘shut up’ and nudging him toward our seats. The lights dim until they fade out completely, and we’re left in the dark, the screen in front of us coming to life.

The movie’s good. So good, in fact, that I almost don’t notice Stiles’ leg pressing against mine. I turn my head so I can look at him, raising an eyebrow. He wiggles both of his in return. Then he yawns exaggeratedly. I snort.

“Are you gonna pull a Danny Zuko on me?”

He chuckles. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“In your dreams.”

“Oh, I’m dreaming of much wilder things than a Danny Zuko, Der-Bear.”

I flush, growing even redder when a girl in the row before us tells us to get a room. Stiles seems to find it hilarious though, which distracts me enough to calm down. We don’t get handsy during the rest of the movie and I’m kind of glad for it. We make our way back outside, passing the girl at the ticket booth again.

“Enjoy the rest of your night,” she says, smiling knowingly.

Stiles grins and winks at her. “We will.”

“Does it bother you?” he asks some time later, on our way back to camp. “People noticing, I mean?”

I take a moment to think about his question. Does it bother me? “Not really,” I answer truthfully, though it kind of comes out like a question.

Stiles looks thoughtful. “Well, regardless . . . you should know that not everybody reacts like that girl in there. There are way too many assholes out there who think being anything other than straight is unnatural and disgusting.”

“Has someone ever said that to you?”

He’s silent for a beat too long and I’m already sorry I asked.

“My uncle.”

“Christ, Stiles.”

“Yeah,” he shrugs. “Let’s not talk about him tonight. Or ever.”

“No problem.”

He nods and changes to subject. “So hey, did you come out to your family yet?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

He looks kind of dejected by my answer and I don’t even think about taking his hand and squeezing it. “Hey, not because I’m ashamed or anything. It just hasn’t come up yet.” I reassure him, trying not to wonder why it seems to bother him in the first place. “Laura knows, though.”

“She does?” He blushes, and I fight to keep down a smile.

“Well, about the kissing.”

“How did she react?”

“Kind of shocked at first, but supportive. Told me I should talk to you, because you knew more about this stuff than she does.”

“She does have a point.”

I chuckle. “Yeah.”

“I’m sure the rest of your crazy wolf pack will react the same way, you know. Don’t worry too much about it.” He pauses, worrying his lip. “But if they do freak out on you . . . I’m here for you.”

“I know,” I say, squeezing his hand again. “Thanks.”

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

 

Instead of going straight back to camp, we make a detour to the lake to play some football at the small sandy area near the water. It’s relaxed, comfortable, and brings back all sorts of memories. We’re both playing barefoot, the sand tickling between my toes as I advance on him, trying to decide which corner of the goal to aim for. I shoot. I score.

“And he scores!” I cheer, a laugh bubbling up at the look on Derek’s face.

“Lucky shot.”

“Sure big boy, keep telling yourself that.”

He huffs and throws the ball back at me, getting a dangerous gleam in his eyes. Then he smirks and slowly, _teasingly_ , pulls off his shirt. I swallow, growing hot all over at the look he’s giving me when he drops his pants as well a moment later.

“Derek?”

He shrugs, still grinning. “I’m feeling nostalgic.”

“What?” I frown, not following his logic. How does getting naked here cause nostalgia with him? He laughs and jogs to the water, then keeps jogging until he’s in it up to his chin. He looks back at me, expectant.

“What are you waiting for?”

Ah. We’re skinny-dipping. Gotcha. I laugh at the memory, quickly getting out of my own clothes before joining him into the water. Without slipping in the mud, this time. Yay for me. I swim behind Derek, wrapping my arms around his shoulders and nuzzling behind his ear. I can feel him melting against me.

“Hi,” I whisper.

“Hey,” he mumbles, turning around in my hold so we’re face to face. His hands travel down my back, brush over my ass with a quick squeeze, and then continue to my thighs, which he grabs and lifts effortlessly in the water so that my legs can wrap around his hips.

I don’t think I’ve ever been in this position with another man, but I find that with him, I don’t mind. I let him know as much by framing his face with my hands and kissing him deeply. He kisses me back like a starving man, his hands returning to my butt and kneading, making me moan softly. He starts trailing kisses down my neck and I throw my head back to give him more room. I freeze when one of his fingers presses lightly against my hole, but relax again when I realize he’s just teasing it, not entering. I remind myself that it’s Derek I’m with, that he wouldn’t hurt me or do anything I don’t want to do.

I kiss him again, carefully moving back against his finger and sighing in relief when I find that it feels good.

“One of these days,” Derek muses, “I’m going to make you feel as good as you make me. Trust me.”

Our lips meet again and I wrap my arms around his neck so I can drag him even closer to me, letting my tongue slip back into his mouth to play with his. I do trust him. And I find that I believe him when he says he’s going to make me feel good. For the first time in a long time the thought of bottoming doesn’t make me cringe. I’m excited for it.

 

 

#

**Derek**

 

When Stiles and I get out of the water, my eyes greedily taking in every inch of his naked body a few steps in front of me, I realize I can’t deny it any longer; I want him. I love this thing between us, love having sex with him, and I honestly have no idea how I’m supposed to give this up in a few weeks.

Seeing as we didn’t bring any towels, we just throw on our clothes while we’re still wet. We’ll be back at camp soon enough. I’m still half hard from our little make-out session a minute before, so I don’t fight him when he pushes me up against a nearby tree and attacks my mouth with his again. I can’t seem to get enough of him.

My dick starts filling up again, welcoming the friction caused by Stiles rutting against me. I shove my hands into his back pockets, squeezing his ass through the material and grinding our dicks together in a sensual rhythm, making us both moan in pleasure.

Deciding it’s not enough, I make quick work of pushing both of our pants down and wrap my hand around both of our dicks, chuckling when Stiles mutters a curse.

“I didn’t know you were into exhibitionism,” he teases me, pushing up into my fist with a soft groan.

“Is it really exhibitionism if there’s no one watching?”

He hums. “Not sure, but I love this kinky side of you.”

We go back to kissing and it doesn’t take long before we both come. I lean my forehead against his shoulder, still breathing heavily as I come down from my orgasm. Stiles is trailing a pattern against my lower back with his fingers and again I think about how I could get used to this. I don’t feel anything but comfortable in his arms.

“Time to go,” he says, patting my ass for good measure.

His words make my chest constrict unpleasantly, being an unwanted reminder of the little time I have left with him.

 

#

 

Parents weekend has arrived at camp, and everyone is all over the place for the final preparations. It’s our job to show the parents _Elites_ is the best football camp for their children to attend, and usually it’s a lot of fun. Bobby recruits Stiles and me to make lunch.

“You can make those famous toasties of yours again,” the man suggests. Stiles rounds on him, eyebrows nearly reaching his hairline.

“You can cook?”

“You two have been friends since forever,” Bobby says. “How do you not know he can cook?”

Stiles narrows his eyes at me. “Good question. You’re going to be in so much trouble if I figure out you’ve been holding out on me all this time.”

I laugh and walk in the direction of to the kitchen. “What are you gonna do, spank me?”

He hums, and it’s like I can _feel_ his eyes on my ass. “Maybe I will.”

My dick twitches in curiosity, but I stubbornly stop myself from meeting his eyes. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. Besides, I’m pretty sure he can tell anyway. I get out all the ingredients I need and tell Stiles what he can do to help, quickly falling in a routine with him.

“So, just out of curiosity,” I ask a while later, the delicious scent of the crispy toasties filling my nose, “How many relationships have you been in anyway?”

He clears his throat, almost awkwardly. “None.”

I look at him, trying to gauge if he’s serious or not. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean I’ve slept around a lot, but that’s it.” He sighs. “I’ve never even spent the night with anyone, well except you I guess, let alone dated someone.”

My jaw drops, eyes wide in disbelief. I did not see this coming. I figured it had been a while since he was in a relationship, but I didn’t expect him to not have any experience with it in the first place.

“Why?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I don’t do relationships. Guess I’m just not . . . made for that kind of attachment.”

I can’t help but wonder what the hell we are supposed to be then, even though I knew it wouldn’t last from the start. Does it even mean something to him at all? Because it does to me. I can’t put a name to it yet, but there’s something between us . . . it’s not just about the sex. Is it?

“Besides,” Stiles continues, “in a few weeks I’ll be too focused on playing football anyway. I won’t even have time for any other type of commitment.”

I hum noncommittedly, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“Do you have your move to Liverpool planned yet?”

I finish up one of the toasties to buy myself some time to answer.

“I uh . . . I’m not sure I want to go anymore,” I finally admit. I don’t tell him about the potential coaching job yet though.

“Oh,” he says, clearly taken aback. “Can I ask why not?”

I shrug. “I just don’t know if I want to be a goalkeeper anymore. It’s not that I don’t love it, I just . . . I don’t know. I don’t think that is what I want to do with my life. Playing professional sports, I mean.”

He nods. “Okay, but if you’re having doubts don’t you think you should at least try training camp first? To see what it’s like?”

I shrug again, and the look on my face must say enough, because Stiles stops preparing toasties and puts both hands on my shoulders, gently turning me to face him.

“Hey. Get your head in the game, Hale.”

I open my mouth to protest, not really sure what I’m going to say to be honest.

“I’m not talking about football this time,” Stiles continues. “You need to figure out what you want to do with your life, man. Football is my whole world, but is it yours?”

And well, is it?

“So like I said, go to trainings camp. Find out how you feel about being there, with the team and the lifestyle and all, and make the decision that’s right for _you_.”

I let out a deep breath, feeling the anxiety leave with it. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear those words, especially from him. I really want to kiss him, but think better of it and instead say a heartfelt thank you.  

Stiles smiles. “Anytime buddy.”

“Hey boys?” Bobby asks, showing up in the kitchen’s doorway. “Could you go to the supermarket real quick and get some more drinks? My wife forgot to restock them and with the parents showing up soon we’re gonna need more stuff. Like coffee. So much coffee.”

We laugh at the stressed man in front of us and agree to make the trip. I quickly explain to Bobby how to finish the toasties and then Stiles and I leave him in the kitchen. He’ll probably be fine. We take Stiles’ Jeep and drive into town. He parks close to the entrance of the supermarket, because he’s lazy like that, and they wander inside, going right to the aisle that’s stocked with a massive collection of tea and coffee.

“Do we need more coke and stuff too?” Stiles wonders.

I frown. “I don’t know, but we should buy some just to be sure.”

“Right,” he nods. “Be right back.”

Stiles leaves him in the coffee aisle on his own and a man in an expensive suit rounds the corner a few moments later, looking at the sandwich in his hand with disdain. It seems to be the most luxurious sandwich the supermarket has to offer, but according to the guy’s expression it’s not good enough for him.

Stiles returns and ruffles my hair, quickly kissing my cheek when I swat at him. The man looks up at us and I flinch at the look of utter disgust on his face. It’s nothing compared to the look the sandwich had received. This is so much worse.

It’s needless to say that this has never happened to me before. Being judged like this. Being on the negative end of a reaction to my bisexuality. The man huffs, and sneers at us; “Fucking faggots.”

The breath rushes out of me and Stiles slings an arm around my shoulder, glaring at the man. “Okay, let’s get out of here.”

He grabs a random brand of coffee and leads us to the check-out station, his arm never leaving my shoulder. He probably knows that I need it to ground me. As soon as we’re back in the car, he apologizes.

“I’m so sorry, Derek. That guy was a douche.”

“Does that happen often?” I ask, still shaken up.

He shrugs in lieu of answering my question. “You just have to ignore assholes like that. If they want to go through life with a giant stick up their ass, let them.”

I feel a rush of pride for him, for not caring, and standing above the hatred. He’s strong, and stays strong through it all even though his own family doesn’t accept it, Jackson excluded of course. I could learn some things from him.

When we return to camp, a lot of the parents have already arrived. We dump the drinks in the kitchen and mingle a bit, introducing ourselves to the parents as coaches. Most of them I recognize from previous years, but some are new this year. My goalie Carter is one of them, and I notice him standing alone.

I’m about to head over to keep him company when Carter turns his back to me, meeting the man that is probably his father. I meet the man’s eyes and feel my heart starting to race painfully inside my chest. It’s the douche from the supermarket.

Oh, we’re so fucked.

 

 

#

 

**Stiles**

I can see the disaster unfolding before me before it has even happened. I’m watching Derek, and when I see him freeze I follow his gaze to the man that threw that degrading slur to our heads barely an hour earlier. Looks like he’s Carter’s father. Poor guy.

The douchebags’ head turns an alarming shade of red in his anger, and Carter can’t stop him from waltzing in our direction. I quickly join Derek’s side, standing just in front of him to shield him if need be.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” the man explodes, still advancing on us. “DO _NOT_ TELL ME YOU ARE BEING COACHED BY A BUNCH OF FAGS!”

“Dad –”

“ARE YOU?” The man demands. “Is one of these _sissies_ your coach?”

Carter looks even more uncomfortable, eyes flitting between his father and Derek.

“Everything alright here?” Jackson asks, appearing at my side. I shoot him a grateful smile. Lydia is with him too, dressed in her training kit which unfortunately makes it very clear she’s a camper as well. The douche realizes it soon after and possibly gets even angrier.

“You have got to be shitting me!” he rages. “A girl, too?”

“Excuse me?” Lydia says, clearly indignant.

“Girls don’t play football. It’s a sport for men!” The man yells, drawing attention from pretty much everyone else if he didn’t have it already. “Which means the only reason you’re here is to fuck around with that boy” – he gestures at Jackson angrily – “and maybe some other coaches.”

“ _What_ did you just say?” Jackson asks, and I can tell he’s close to flipping his shit. I catch his arm before he does something stupid.

“ _Yes_ ,” Lydia says, incredulous. “I’m sure you didn’t actually say what I thought you just said.”

“You heard me,” the man growls.

“Dad, come on, please,” Carter tries again, begging his father to stop.

Derek is shaking, and I am _livid_. Who does this guy think he fucking is? Bobby finally shows up and attempt to defuse the situation.

“Alright!” he says, raising his voice to be heard over the commotion. “Why don’t we take this to my office?” he asks, but it’s clearly a demand. He ushers the Carters inside and I’m about to storm after them, but Derek holds me back.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asks, voice still shaky.

“ _Yes_ ,” I snap. “That asshole needs to be put in his place.”

“Damn straight,” Jackson agrees with me. “I won’t let anyone speak about you like that.” He looks at all three of us. “Either of you.”

And this right here is one of the reasons he’s my chosen brother. He never lets me down.

I put my hands on Derek’s shoulders, waiting for him to meet my eyes before I speak.

“You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but I’m going.”

He sighs. “No, I’ll come. You’re right.”

“Well, we’re going back to practice,” Lydia proclaims.

“We are?” Jackson asks, looking a bit disappointed.

She nods. “Yes. He’s not worth it.”

I nod at them and lead Derek inside, straight to Bobby’s office.

“Alright,” Bobby snaps. “Why don’t you explain to me what the _hell_ is going on here?”

“They’re gay,” the man seethes, like that is explanation enough. I want to punch him. So bad.

“So?” Bobby asks.

“So?” the man splutters. “They’re gay and coaching my son! And they were being indecent!”

“When and how, exactly?”

The douche looks uncomfortable, and I grin at him, seeing a perfect opportunity to use his homophobia against him. “Go on,” I say. “Tell him.”

The man glares at me. “They kissed.”

I nod. “Kissed where?”

“The supermarket?” the man frowns.

“Which body part,” I say with a roll of my eyes.

The douche falters, his ears growing red. “His cheek,” he mumbles eventually.

“Seriously?” Bobby exclaims. “This is your problem?” He stands up in agitation, clearly done with the man and this entire situation. “It is no one’s business but their own who they kiss. As long as they keep coaching and their private life separated – which they _have –_ it’s completely fine. In fact,” Bobby continues, “these boys are like my unofficial sons. I have known them since they were 13 years old and _I_ didn’t even know about this.”

“I will not stand for this!” the douche yells. “I will tell everyone about the kind of coaches you hire, then we’ll see how well you do. This camp will be bankrupt before you can blink.”

Bobby narrows his eyes at him dangerously. “You do that. I hire the people that are most qualified and I stand behind my choice to hire these two. If that’s a problem for you, there’s the door.”

“I don’t want my son here a second longer,” the man spits, sending an evil look at both me and Derek. Then he leaves without another word, his son trailing after him.

Bobby heaves a big sigh. “You wanna go back out there, continue with the introductions?”

“Obviously,” I say.

“Is that a good idea?” Derek asks. “Shouldn’t we give him time to calm down or something?”

“Buddy, we’ve got every right to be here. We’re good at what we do. _You_ are good at what you do here. So screw him.”

Derek looks at Bobby for confirmation. “I agree, but it’s up to you, kiddo.”

He takes a deep breath and averts his eyes, telling me enough with that gesture alone. “I’m sorry . . .”

“Don’t be.” I squeeze his shoulder and go back outside.

 

**#**

The kids and their parents have moved to the pitch to play a game against each other, and they’re waiting for instructions. Some of them have already left with their own coaches and are doing a warming up, but my guys and Derek’s goalies are lounging in the grass.

Jackson jogs up to me with a worried frown on his face. “Hey, are you alright? Man, that guy was an asshole. Please tell me he’s gone.”

I nod. “Yeah, he’s gone. Shame for the kid, though. According to Derek he was real talented.”

“Yeah, how’s Derek dealing with all this?”

I shrug. “He needs some time to process it, I guess. He isn’t used to it like I am.”

Jackson grimaces. “There are so many things wrong with that sentence. This shouldn’t be normal to you.”

“Well, it is.” I sigh. The kids are looking at me like they’re unsure of how to deal with the situation and I can’t blame them. I square my shoulders and power through, leaving this mess behind me.

“Okay ladies, lets GOOOO!”

I clap my hands together and tell the boys to get a move on and to show their parents how it’s done. I throw myself into coaching, doing my best to ignore my worry for Derek.

It’s a lost cause.

 

**#**

**Derek**

I go back to our room instead of joining the kids and their parents on the pitch. Stiles had looked disappointed when I didn’t want to go back out there, but he did squeeze my shoulder and told me not to be sorry, so I’m pretty reassured that we’re okay. I didn’t leave because I’m scared, but because I need to get my thoughts in order.

I flip on my bed, get out my phone and hit the speed-dial for Laura.

“I’m bisexual,” I blurt out as soon as she picks up.

“Gee, hello to you to,” she snorts.

“Holy shit,” I laugh, because damn, that was the first time I said it out loud. “That felt so good to say. I’m bisexual.”

“I take it this has something to do with Stiles?” she asks.

Her words are like a bucket of cold water in my face, sobering me up quickly. “Yeah.”

“Why do you sound so depressed? Is there something going on between you two I don’t know about?”

“It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” she says, and I can hear her getting into a more comfortable position.

“Okay,” I take a deep breath. “Okay, so Stiles and I have been doing . . . well, _things_ together –”

“Oookay, I’m gonna stop you right there.”

I roll my eyes. “Anyway, so yeah, he made me realize I’m bi, but then today we were at the supermarket and this guy who turned out to be one of my goalies’ dad sees Stiles giving me a kiss on the cheek and flips out when he finds out we’re coaching his kid. He like, went _berserk_ , Laura, it was insane, his homophobia. I’ve never been confronted with it like that and then I just realized that Stiles has been dealing with this for years and I _hate_ that thought, hate that he had to deal with that alone.”

I take a breath before I continue. “But then he just went back out there like a total bad-ass, completely unfazed and I just . . . I don’t know how he does it. I mean I’m fucking proud of him but also kind of sad? I don’t know, I just needed a moment and called you as soon as I was alone.”

She coos at him for that. “Aw, I knew I was your favourite.”

“Don’t make me regret it.”

She chuckles, then sighs. “Look Der, Stiles is right though. There are tons of assholes out there who will probably never accept any other love than between a man and a woman. Stupid, but the truth. You can’t let it change your life. You’re allowed to be who you are, and I’m proud of you for coming out as bisexual.”

I smile. “Thanks. Don’t tell the pack yet, though, okay? I think they should hear it from me.”

“Of course. So what _is_ going on between you and Stiles. Are you two serious?”

I groan and rub a hand over my eyes. “I don’t even know what we are to be honest.”

“But?”

“But nothing, it’s not like we’ll be seeing much of each other after camp is over.”

“But would you want to?”

I bite my tongue to stop myself from blurting everything out. Confession time: I can imagine a future with that guy, alright? I could move with Stiles to Southampton, get a coaching job, move in with him for real instead of just being roommates. I can picture it so easily. And I’d like to have it, but stiles made it pretty clear that we only have the summer. He doesn’t do relationships.

“Der?” Laura drags me out of my thoughts.

“Yeah, sorry. I’ll uh, I’ll take a rain check on that question okay? Call you later.”

She sighs. “Kay, bye.”

I close my eyes for only a moment, but end up falling asleep and missing dinner. I’ll raid the kitchen for something later. I’m too comfy. I hear the shower turning on and realize that Stiles is back. There’s almost no light in the room because of the hour, the only light coming from beneath the bathroom door. Stiles takes a suspiciously long shower and eventually comes back in only a towel.

I look at him lazily, and when he notices I’m awake he comes over and sits on the edge of my mattress, leaning down and kissing me sweetly. He leans back and smiles down at me.

“Hey. How are you doing?”

I drag him back down, rolling until I’m on top of him. I smile and give him a quick kiss. “Better now.”

He huffs in amusement. “Glad to hear it.”

I hum and lean back down for another kiss, this one a lot slower and a lot more passionate. Our hands wander, and soon we’re frotting against each other, gasps leaving our mouths. I sit back so that I’m straddling him, my fingers playing with the hair of his happy trail.

“What’s on your mind?” he asks me, his own fingers trailing up and down my thighs. I take a deep breath and meet his eyes.

“Can I fuck you?”

His breath hitches, eyes widening, but I can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad reaction.

“You’re allowed to say no. You should say no if you have any bit of doubt about wanting this, okay? I just wanted you to know it’s an option.”

He smiles up at me, relaxing back into the mattress, his fingers moving higher up my thighs.

“I’d like that.”

I grin tentatively. “You sure?”

He slaps my ass in irritation, though I can tell he’s amused. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

I laugh and shake my head, leaning back down so I can kiss him. Tonight is going to be about him for once. I peck him on the lips one more time, then slowly start trailing kisses down his neck and lower, remembering how sensitive his nipples are. I mouth at one, massaging the other one with my fingers, making Stiles shiver.

“Oh yeah,” he breathes out, burying his fingers in my hair and tugging lightly.

I move away briefly so I can get the lube and finger him open, going slow and making sure I’m gentle, constantly checking his face to make sure I’m not hurting him. Stiles rolls his eyes at me when he realizes.

“I’m not made of glass, dude.”

“Just shut up and enjoy it,” I huff, knowing he appreciates it even though he acts nonchalant.

When Stiles proclaims he’s ready, I remove my fingers and put on a condom, then line myself up.

“You still sure?” I ask.

He groans and grabs my ass. “Oh my god, get _in_ me.”

I laugh and do as I’m told, sinking inside of him slowly, moaning at the feeling. When I’m all the way inside, Stiles drags my face down to his so he can kiss me, and I don’t waste any time in deepening it.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” I gasp.

He curses. “Fucking _move,_ Derek.”

I slowly drag my dick back, almost all the way out, before slowly sliding back in. I chuckle at the blissed-out look on his face.

“Good?”

He hums, squeezing my ass in answer and I take it as my cue to keep going. The noises he makes make me snap my hips faster not much later, and I lean back to improve the angle, his legs now hooked over my shoulders. I take his dick in my hand, stroking it as I snap my hips forward harder, making him cry out.

“Right there!”

I thrust harder, trying to hit the same spot over and over again. My eyes roll back inside my head when Stiles’ hole starts to spasm around my dick as he comes, the tight heat of his insides feeling amazing around me. I hear the cap of the lube open and close, and then there’s a wet finger teasing at my own hole, quickly slipping inside. A second finger soon follows, and I groan at the feeling of fucking and being fucked.

“Fuck, I’m gonna come.”

“Do it, big guy,” Stiles pants.

I come with a long groan. When I’ve got my breath back, I slip out of Stiles and get rid of the condom before lying down next to him. I want to ask him if it was good for him, but he cuddles up to me, and I’m comfortable, and I fall asleep before I can open my mouth to say something sensible.

 

**#**

I know it’s irrational to hate the fact that time passes, but I do it anyway. There’s only one week left. One week until possibly the best summer of my life comes to an end, and with it this thing between me and Stiles.

We’re in our room, just done with training, both of us completely sweaty and eager to get out of our clothes. It’s positively humid outside and it’s making everything gross. Stiles gets the first shower, because if we shower together we will miss dinner, _again_ , and it’s not worth it tonight. I’m starving.

I get naked and sit down on my mattress while I wait for Stiles to finish, switching my lenses for my glasses, because they’re starting to irritate me. Stiles coos at me when he comes back inside the room, clad in only a towel.

“What?” I frown.

He shrugs. “You look cute with those glasses.”

“ _Cute?_ ” I sputter, affronted. “I’m twenty-two. I’m a man. I have stubble and everything. I’m not _cute_.”

“You’re right,” Stiles deadpans. “You’re actually adorable.”

I throw my sweaty shirt at his face and pout when he catches it before it can hit. He takes a deep inhale of the smell. “Hm, manly musk.”

God, my boyfriend is an idiot.

“I hate you.”

He cackles. “I hate you too, baby.”

I groan and leave for the bathroom, taking my own shower. When I’m done and put on some clothes to get ready for dinner, I freeze. Because my mind chooses that moment to realize that I called Stiles my boyfriend in my head mere minutes ago.

Stiles is waiting by the door, looking at me expectantly. “You coming?”

I shake my internal panic off and nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”

 

**#**

 

Bobby asks me to come to his office after dinner, and makes me sit down in front of his desk with a move of his hand.

“What do you want to talk to me about?” I ask, curious.

“Remember when we talked about you coaching?” The man waits for me to nod before he continues. “Well, I found you a job as assistant coach. It’s more of an internship, but you will get paid for it.”

I blink at him, stunned. “Wow. That’s . . . wow. Where?”

“Southampton, like you asked.” Bobby grins. “Perfect, right?”

That is perfect. Or could be, if Stiles would be okay with it. Problem is that I have no idea if he is or not. I bite my lip, trying not to get my hopes up.

“What about me being bi?” I ask carefully. “Will that be a problem?”

The man shakes his head. “Don’t worry. They have an anti-discrimination policy. I know it won’t protect you from people outside of the club, but it’s a start.

I nod. “Right.”

“It’s your choice, kiddo,” Bobby says. “You can start a week from now, if you decide to take it.”

That’s around the same time I am supposed to start at Everton’s trainings camp. So what do I want? I should probably talk with Stiles about this before I decide anything, but I’m worried about what he will say.

What if I ruin everything and lose him again?

 

 

**#**

**Stiles**

The next morning at breakfast, Derek is acting a bit withdrawn. He has been like this since yesterday, after talking to Bobby, but he hasn’t told me what’s going on yet. I’ve asked, of course, but he’s being stubborn. It’s very annoying.

“I still can’t believe you’ll be a professional footballer by next week,” Jackson pipes up, elbowing me in excitement. “It’s going to be so weird seeing your ugly face on TV.”

“Stop being jealous Jackson,” Lydia says. “Green isn’t your colour.”

Jackson rolls his eyes and I laugh, winking at Lydia. Then I look at Derek, who still hasn’t said a word. I nudge him with my knee, which at least gets him to look up from his plate.

“You okay?” I ask softly.

He nods. “Fine.”

He averts his eyes again and I feel the urge to shake him and demand why he won’t just talk to me. When he doesn’t say another word for the entire of breakfast, I decide I’ve had enough. I all but drag Derek upstairs and shove him into our room, demanding to know what’s going on with him.

“Seriously,” I stress. “Tell me.”

Derek looks down to avoid my eyes, plucking at the seam of his jeans. “It’s no –”

“Oh my god, just spit it out Derek!”

He looks skywards and takes a big shuddery breath. “Fine. I think I will be coaching next year.”

“Dude, that’s great! Where?”

He clears his throat and doesn’t meet my eyes again. “Southampton.”

“Oh.”

 _Oh crap_.

That’s like a dream come true, but then not because we can’t fucking be together, okay? I’m going to have to go back in the closet for the outside world and I just . . . I can’t do that to Derek. I love this guy, he deserves so much better than being my dirty secret. He deserves someone he can be proud of standing next to, to build a family with, to have a _future_ with –

“Oh?” Derek echoes. “Is that all you’re gonna say?” His voice is small and fragile, and I hate myself for causing it to sound like that. I hate my next words even more.

“We can’t.”

He nods slowly, grinding his teeth together to keep his face composed.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Yeah,” he says. “Whatever.” He shakes his head and turns around, storming out of the room.

I want to go after him, to beg him to come back, but I can’t. It’s killing me to let him walk away again, but I have to. Derek will find someone else, someone better and deserving of him.

I push my palms against my watering eyes and exhale slowly.

“ _FUCK!_ ”

I look around the room, the space I shared with Derek for the past five weeks. My eyes fall on my duffel bag. I swallow and pick it up, opening it with shaking fingers.

I start packing.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was worth the wait ^-^  
> I will do my best to update the next (and final!) chapter soon!


	6. Chapter 6

+1 – _July/August, Southampton + Thanksgiving Epilogue_

**Stiles**

 

I probably shouldn’t be surprised that my phone starts chiming with incoming messages barely two hours after I’ve left Elites _._ Honestly, it’s kind of impressive that it even took this long. The first ones are from Derek. I don’t open them, instead opting to delete them unread. I know, I’m a coward. But it’s for the best. He gives up an hour or so later, probably realising he won’t get a response out of me. Unfortunately, Jackson is a stubborn asshole that won’t take no for an answer. His texts I do read, and I’m a bit taken aback by how angry he is with me. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was on Derek’s side in all this. Not that there really are any sides, but . . . well.  
  


_[Where the hell are you?]  
  
_

That was his first text, very to the point with a side of ‘done with your shit’. Classic Jackson. Then he continued with:  
  


_[What the hell were you thinking?]  
  
_

_[Are you out of your fucking mind?]  
  
_

And the real kicker:  
  


_[Why do you always run away from shit like this?]  
  
_

Never let it be said that Jackson doesn’t know me. I also know him though, so I’m not at all surprised when the tone of his texts shifts from frustration to worry. Well, frustration _and_ worry. It’s still Jackson.  
  


_[You okay though?]  
  
_

_[Stiles]  
  
_

_[Fucking answer me or I WILL call you dammit]  
  
_

_[STILES!!]  
  
_

I sigh and start an internal countdown. Three. Two. One.  
  


My phone rings, Jackson’s face showing up on screen. Bingo. I pick up and mumble a hello, really not in the mood for whatever it is Jackson has in store for me.  
  


“Where the hell are you?” he demands, foregoing niceties altogether. It’s going to be that kind of talk then. Great.  
  


“On a train.”  
  


“To fuck where?”  
  


I roll my eyes. “Southampton.” Obviously.  
  


“Already?”  
  


I shrug, even though I know he can’t see it. “Figured I might as well go early.”  
  


Jackson sighs. “This is about Derek, isn’t it? I don’t know what the hell happened between you two, but he’s pissed you left without saying anything.”  
  


The ‘again’ is heavily implied, and I _know_ , okay? I know I’m a fucking coward for leaving like I did. I panicked and I fucked up. Story of my life, it seems. “Look man, I really don’t want to talk about this right now. Gotta get my head in the game, you know?”  
  


Jackson groans. “I hate it when you say that. I mean it’s fine to have a goal in mind and stay focused, but you’re allowed to let yourself _feel_ sometimes, you know? You’re not a goddamn robot, Stiles. You don’t have to pretend to be okay all the time.”  
  


“Jackson –”  
  


“No, listen to me! I _know_ you hate having to go back inside the closet for the public eye. I know it’s why you’re pushing Derek away, which was a dick move by the way, and I know you’re fucking upset about it. And I’m sick of watching you putting up walls and pretending you don’t give a fuck.”  
  


“You think I don’t know all of that?” I snap, voice catching on the lump in my throat. “But this is my _dream_ , Jackson! It’s worth it.”  
  


There’s a pause in which neither of us say anything, and I close my eyes, knowing what he’s going to say next.  
  


“Is it?”  
  


I squeeze my eyes shut tighter. “I have to go.”  
  


“Stiles –”  
  


I hang up, letting my hand fall limp into my lap, the phone slipping on the seat beside me as I let out a deep breath. It is worth it, no matter what Jackson says. I’m going to fulfil my childhood dream – the dream I shared with my dad –  making a living by doing what I love most. Having to hide my sexuality is a downside, yes, but it’s worth it and I will go back inside the closet without dragging Derek into that hell with me.  
  


Jackson’s right about one thing, though. I do hate that it’s necessary. It just makes me so angry that ‘coming out’ is even a thing. It shouldn’t matter that I’m gay. Just because most of the male population is attracted to women doesn’t mean that me being attracted to men is wrong. I just don’t understand why people care. Like, what did gay people ever do to you to get treated like this? Just mind your own damn business and let people live their lives.  
  


But I’m also realistic. As much as it sucks, I know society just isn’t there yet. So I’m going to do what I have to do to play pro football. That will be enough to keep me happy. It has to be.

 

 

# August #

 

**Derek**

I go back home with mixed feeling. I’m happy to see my family again, no doubt about that. But the way I left things with Stiles, the way he walked out on our . . . whatever we had. Friendship, relationship, I don’t even know anymore. Fact remains that he left me, _again._ I’m having a hard time dealing with it. Maybe it would have been different if I hadn’t stormed out of the room that day. If I had just stayed to talk things out instead. Probably not though. I mean, I know why he did it, why he left and pushed me away. It just sucks that I wasn’t enough to change his mind, is all.  
  


I slow down the car and take the turn onto our property, a wistful smile on my face as I watch the trees surrounding me. Damn, I missed this place. When I park on the front lawn, I laugh at the sight of my family all crammed together on the porch. I get out of the car and let the door fall shut, taking a moment to watch my family.  
  


“Oh, fuck it,” Ivy and Lily say in perfect unison. I have about two seconds to appreciate how creepy it is before they’re on me, sandwiching me in a hug that’s tight enough to squeeze the air out of me.  
  


I wheeze out a laugh and hug them back as well as I can from my position. “Gee, missed you too.”  
  


“You freaking better,” Lena butts in, trying to wedge herself into the hug. When her pregnant belly prevents her from doing so, she huffs and drags the twins away from me so she can ruffle my hair and leave a wet kiss on my cheek. I grimace, but give her a sideways hug anyway.  
  


I walk closer to the house and ascend the porch steps, rolling my eyes when Cora punches my shoulder in greeting. “Welcome back, loser.”  
  


My dad snorts and cuffs her lightly on the back of her head, then pulls me into a backslapping hug. “Glad to have you home, kiddo.”  
  


“Glad to be home,” I say, moving on to hug my mom.  
  


I catch Laura’s eyes from over my mom’s shoulder. She’s looking at me like she sees right through me and knows that I’m broken inside. Then I remember she _does_ know and that’s just great. It’ll probably take less than an hour for her to corner me and make me tell her everything. I don’t think I’m ready for that.  
  


In a few days, I have the interview for the coaching job Bobby hooked me up with, but for now I’m looking forward to spending time with my family. Drama can wait.  
  


I follow my mom into the kitchen, escaping my sister for the time being. I sit down at the breakfast bar and pillow my head on my arms, suddenly exhausted.  
  


“What’s for dinner?”  
  


She looks at me over her shoulder, smiling. I missed that smile. “Rice and tandoori chicken”.  
  


I grin. “My favourite.”  
  


She laughs. “Oh, really?”  
  


Lily barges into the kitchen and ruffles my hair. “Come on kiddo, help me set the table.”  
  


“Do I have to?” I groan.  
  


She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Do you want to eat? I know it’s been a while since you’ve been home, but the rules haven’t changed.”  
  


I sigh and get up. “Fine, fine.”  
  


She kisses my cheek when I walk past her and I pretend to dislike it, but I’m pretty sure we both know it’s an act. I’m happy to be home.

 

#

 

Laura does indeed end up dragging me to my room a while later and instead of making me talk, she surprises me by firmly closing the door behind us and simply wrapping me in a hug like only she can give, strong and a little bit too tight, her hand cradling the back of my head and gently guiding it to her shoulder. I squeeze her back and let out a shaky breath, oddly touched.  
  


“Okay,” she says after a few minutes of just standing there. “Tell me where he is so I can beat the shit out of him.”  
  


Her words startle a laugh out of me and I shake my head in fond amusement. “I appreciate the thought, but it wouldn’t change anything.”  
  


She sits down on my bed, patting the spot next to her in invitation. I join her and wait for her to speak.  
  


“So, what happened?”  
  


“I offered to come with him to Southampton.” I shrug, trying to ignore how much it still hurts. “He didn’t want me to.”  
  


“Ugh, I knew I hated him.”  
  


“You like him and you know it.”  
  


“Not when he treats you like this, I don’t.”  
  


I kiss the side of her head. “Thanks.”  
  


“I just don’t get it!” she says. “I mean how can he reject you after you love him so much you’re willing to change your whole life plan for him! That’s major and he’s a giant dick for dumping you like this.”  
  


“I don’t think he dumped me if we were never actually together.”  
  


“Doesn’t change the fact that you love him though.”  
  


“Well yeah, but he doesn’t know that.”  
  


She looks at me, eyes bugging and expression warring between exasperation and despair. Mine is probably the same. _I never told him I love him_. To be fair I’m not even sure I realized I love him until now, but still. He pushed me away and I let him, instead of calling him out on his shit and being honest about how I felt. I fall back on the bed with a groan.  
  


“Crap.”  
  


“Seriously Derek?” she groans. “This is what happens when you don’t have me around. If I would have been there I would have just smashed your and Stiles’ mouths together like I did with my dolls as a kid. You two are hopeless.”  
  


I hum in resignation.  
  


“It’s alright though, I’m here now.” She pokes me until I look at her. “I’m going to make you fix this.”  
  


I groan and hide my head under my arms, knowing without a doubt that she’s serious and won’t stop until she has reached a satisfying outcome. Which means that I’m going to have to pay a certain someone a visit in a few days.

 

#

 

The interview went surprisingly well and, not to brag or anything, but I seriously nailed it. My boss is awesome, and for the duration of the interview we pretty much just geeked out over defence tactics and goalkeeping.  
  


“Well, Derek, I would love to have you on the team. The job is yours if you want it.”  
  


I try to keep my elated answering smile at bay, but am pretty sure I fail. Whatever. I got the freaking job, I’m allowed to smile.  
  


“ _Yes,_ ” I say with feeling, making the man laugh. “Thank you so much.”  
  


We say our goodbyes and promise to be in contact to hash out when I can start, and then I’m out of the building, grabbing for my phone to call Laura with the good news.  
  


“Oh my God, Derek I’m so proud of you!” she says once I’ve told her.  
  


I feel my cheeks heat up at the praise and look down at the ground, still smiling. “Thanks.”  
  


“Okay, on the more important issues. You have the app, right?”  
  


I sigh, stomach fluttering when I think of what I’m going to do. “Yes.”  
  


“Good. Use it. Go get your man.”  
  


I chuckle, my nerves spilling over. “Okay.”  
  


“Love you, Der-bear.”  
  


“You too.” I hang up on her and open a familiar hook-up app on my phone, a slow smile creeping up my face in nervous anticipation. I click on the familiar name and type out a message.

 

#

 

**Stiles**

I still can’t believe I have my own _apartment_. It is a beautiful loft in the middle of the city. It has an industrial feel to it, but it’s really neat and has an incredible view. It’s the perfect place to come home to after practice. I just had my first one with the team, and it was fucking rough. There wasn’t a moment of doubt that this is the real deal, and I freaking loved it. My parents would be proud.  
  


I smile, wandering through the open space of the loft. It’s still pretty bare since I don’t have much furniture or knick-knacks yet, but I know that even if I fill the place up with more furniture or random paraphernalia, it won’t matter. There will always be one thing missing. Or someone, rather.  
  


I sigh, ignoring the Derek-shaped hole in my chest. I get my phone out and open my contact list, heart skipping painfully when I scroll past Derek’s name. I scroll until I reach the number tagged ‘ignore’ – because no, he doesn’t deserve a name in my contact list – and call my uncle.  
  


“Stiles, can this wait? I’m a bit busy over here.”  
  


I roll my eyes. Of course, he is.  
  


“No, it can’t. This will only take a minute.”  
  


The man sighs impatiently and grunts out a terse ‘fine’. I mentally send him the finger.  
  


“So here’s the deal. I’m not doing the interview. I don’t want your help pimping my career. I can do it on my own, without actively lying to the press.”  
  


“And just not telling anyone about your . . . extracurricular activities, isn’t lying? You know this phase of yours is going to ruin your career, right?”  
  


And that’s it. That is fucking _it.  
  
_

“You know what asshole, you can go fuck yourself,” I snap, blood boiling at his words. “My sexuality is not a fucking _phase_ , it’s who I _am_. And I am fucking done with putting up with your shit. We’re done here. Don’t call me again.”  
  


I hang up without another word. Jackson would be proud of me.  
  


I throw the phone on the couch and it buzzes in protest. Which is . . . odd. Then it chimes with a new message, and I recognize it as the tune of the hook-up app I haven’t opened in forever. Definitely not since coming here. I flop down on the couch and pick up my phone again, opening the app with a frown. The air leaves my lungs at once when I realize I have a message from ‘blueskittle’. And he’s less than a mile away.   
  


“Holy shit,” I whisper, because this can only mean one thing and it deserves a freak-out. Derek is _here_?  
  


_[We need to talk. You weren’t answering your phone so I had to get crafty. Now tell me the number of your apartment and meet me at the door, asshole]  
  
_

Right. Of course he’s pissed. The thought of seeing him again though? Fuck, I can’t wait.  
  


I text him the number of my apartment with sweaty fingers and stand up, dragging a shaking hand through my hair. I take a quick look around for anything messy lying around, but there’s nothing. I’m not sure if I’m glad about that. At least it would have given me something to do while I –  
  


There’s a knock at the door.  
  


I jump and run my fingers through my hair again, taking a deep breath on my way to the door. I hesitate for a beat, but then open it. I’m half expecting to be punched in the face, but Derek is . . . smiling?  
  


“Hey.”  
  


God, I missed his voice. My eyes roam greedily over his body, and I belatedly realize he’s wearing a goddamn suit, sweet Jesus, he looks good enough to bite. I back up, letting him inside and keeping my hands to myself, even though I wanna hug him, and maybe break down, and possibly chain him in my apartment so he never leaves again. Though he’s never the one leaving, is he? It’s always my own goddamn fault.  
  


“Hi.” That’s all I can get out of my mouth right now. I move aside so he can step through the large sliding door and watch as he takes in my apartment.  
  


“Nice place you’ve got here,” he says, sending me that smile again. “A bit on the bare side, but you’re probably still working on that.”  
  


I nod, words still lost on me. I just don’t know how to deal with the situation. How to deal with him being here, in Southampton, in my _apartment_. I swallow and lick my lips, trying to get my mouth to work.  
  


“What are you doing here, Derek?” is what comes out eventually.  
  


He sighs, shoulders tensing ever so slightly. “I came here to tell you something that I probably should have said a while ago.” He lets out a soft laugh. “I didn’t even realize it until Laura pointed it out to me.”  
  


“. . .Okay?”  
  


He’s just standing there, in the middle of my living room, so close yet so far away. And great, now I’m starting to sound like a cliché love song. Then again, I guess it does fit the situation. We’re not even talking now, just looking at each other. I want to reach out so badly. I want to feel the rasp of his stubble under my fingers, count the colours in his eyes, wrap him in my arms and just be _close_ again.  
  


“We never really talked about this,” Derek says, “but you probably think that whatever we had this summer was just . . . for fun or some kind of phase or something. Like I’m going to go back to girls now that summer is over. That it didn’t mean anything to me . . . and that it doesn’t matter anyway because you’re going back inside the closet for a while”  
  


I bite my lip and avert my eyes, a sense of shame washing over me. He’s not wrong, but it’s also not the whole picture.  
  


“So,” he continues, “I think I know you well enough to say that that is why you pushed me away again. Because it did mean something to you. It meant a lot.”  
  


Well, that’s not all of it, but –  
  


“Yes, I’ve got a big gay crush on you okay?” I blurt, flailing my arms because I can’t not. “There. Happy now?”  
  


“Me? I’m ecstatic.” He grins. “I can do you one better though.”  
  


I frown. “Oh?”  
  


He takes a step closer to me, then ever so slowly raises his hand until it’s cradling my cheek. “I love you so fucking much, Stiles Stilinski.”  
  


_Oh, sweet Lord.  
  
_

I blink. I can’t have heard that right. I blink again, searching Derek’s eyes, and suddenly realize how close we are. I open my mouth, close it, open it again. Nothing comes out.  
  


Derek, the asshole, only looks amused. “Did I break you?”  
  


“Shut up,” I breathe, grabbing the lapels of that goddamn suit jacket so I can drag him closer and kiss him. “Shut. _Up_.”  
  


“Hm, you’re not happy with it then?” he mumbles against my lips. “Want me to take it back?”  
  


“Don’t you fucking dare.”  
  


He chuckles and puts his lips back on mine, and I lose myself in the kiss, fisting his jacket between my fingers and idly wondering if there’s a way we can keep doing this forever. Eventually we have to breathe, though, so I lean back a bit, just enough to rest my forehead against his.  
  


“You _love_ me,” I whisper, disbelief still colouring my voice.  
  


“I love you.”  
  


“I love you too.” I laugh incredulously. “Holy shit.”  
  


Derek is looking at me like he’s happy, but also like he’s waiting for something. Almost like he’s bracing himself for rejection, which is just ridiculous. Why would I ever – oh. Derek must have realized that I see the problem now, because he smiles ruefully.  
  


“So, what now?”  
  


I let out a deep sigh. “Fuck if I know.”  
  


“I meant it, when I said I love you,” Derek says, “but I also don’t want to come between you and your career. I know how it means to you.”  
  


“Well, screw that, I’m not choosing between you and football.” I shake my head. “We’ll figure something out.”  
  


“Yeah, we will,” Derek whispers before kissing me again and God, it feels like coming home.  
  


“Hey, I may be a giant ass for even asking this, but do you still have a chance at that coaching thing here in Southampton?”  
  


He smirks. “Funny you’d ask.”  
  


I smile too, can’t help it. “Yeah? Why’s that?”  
  


“I just had an interview for said job . . . and I got it.”  
  


I smack his shoulder in enthusiastic congratulations. “Dude, that’s amazing! I’m so proud.”  
  


He laughs. “Thanks. Why’d you ask, though?”  
  


“Oh, right.” I take one of his hands in both of mine, bringing it to my mouth and kissing it briefly. “Move in with me?”  
  


“What?”  
  


I shrug. “Look around man, this place is way too big for me alone. It’s not a home.” I look down at our hands, then shyly back up. “But it would be if you lived here with me.”  
  


“Oh my God,” he says, amused, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “How did I never know you’re a secret romantic?”  
  


“Shhh, don’t ruin the moment.”  
  


Derek snorts and I go in for a quick kiss, then whisper; “Just say yes.”  
  


He leans back a little, looking hesitant. “I want to, but. . . I don’t think I can afford to live at this place.”  
  


“Whoa, hey, none of that,” I shake my head, cradling his face in my hands and waiting for him to look at me. “I don’t care about the money. Just pay what you can, we’ll make it work. Just. . . stay with me.”  
  


Derek’s answering smile is blinding, and I melt at the sight of it. “What are you smiling about?”  
  


He shrugs helplessly. “Just feels really good to hear you say that.”  
  


I can’t help it, I have to kiss him for that. “It feels good to finally say it too, trust me. God, Derek, I’ve wanted this for so long.”  
  


“Yeah?”  
  


“Yeah.”  
  


“Okay,” he nods. “I guess I’ll stay then.”  
  


My chest is bursting with happiness when those words sink in, and fuck my eyes are watering. I kiss him again, simply because I can. “Thanks.” I lean back, resolute. “Wait a sec, I’m gonna make a phone call.”  
  


“To whom?”  
  


“PR department. I need to schedule a meeting.”  
  


He frowns. “Wha – Stiles you don’t –”  
  


“It’s just to give them a heads-up. I’ll spend my rookie season to give myself a chance to prove myself to the public and not a moment longer.”  
  


“You sure?”  
  


“Yes. You’re worth it.”  
  


Derek smiles fondly, tugging me close and wrapping his arms around me, then leaves a small kiss behind my ear. “No. _We_ ’re worth it.”

 

 

 

#

 

**_Epilogue_ **

****

**_Stiles, Thanksgiving_ **

****

“Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick.”  
  


I’m not kidding, either. We’re in the car, on our way to Derek’s family to spend Thanksgiving with them, and I don’t think I have ever been this nervous.  
  


“Relax,” Derek sooths, one hand letting go of the wheel so he can squeeze my hand. “It’s not like you’ve never met them.”  
  


“Well yeah, but that was like, twenty minutes every year when they dropped you off at camp or picked you back up. This is different. And besides, that was then. I’ve been a total douche the past few years and they’ll –”  
  


“Stiles,” Derek cuts in patiently. “I love you. Which means they will love you. Trust me, it’ll be okay.”  
  


“Promise?”  
  


He laughs and rolls his eyes. “Yes.”  
  


Derek’s entire family is waiting on the front porch when we arrive. His parents, all of his sisters and their significant others. Even Lena’s new-born son, only about a month old. It’s . . . a bit overwhelming, to be honest.  
  


I gulp. “Holy shit, you weren’t kidding about that warm welcome, were you?”  
  


Derek grins and gets out of the car. “Not even a little bit.”  
  


I take a deep breath and open my own door so I can follow him. We’ve barely taken a step away from the car when we’re literally swarmed by Derek’s family members. To my surprise, they hug me as hard as they hug Derek, not an ounce of hostility or suspicion to be found. Laura in particular seems happy to see me, even going so far as to kiss my cheek.  
  


“I knew you’d get your head out of your ass at some point.”  
  


“Pretty sure he just replaced it with Derek’s,” Ivy snorts under her breath as she walks by, cackling when I let out an embarrassing meep of mortification.  
  


Laura laughs and pats my shoulders. “Don’t worry, the teasing is a good thing.”  
  


I’d voice my doubts about her statement, but I get side-tracked when I catch Derek holding his baby nephew. My mouth drops open, heart beating faster as warmth floods through my chest and further south, making me feel weak in the knees. I’m pretty sure this is what girls talk about when they say their ovaries are exploding.  
  


Laura ruffles my hair and laughs again. “Boy, you’ve got it bad.”  
  


I swallow, but don’t deny it. “Uhuh.”  
  


“Come on everyone, let’s move this inside,” Talia rounds her family up and ushers them into the warmth of the house and through to the living room where they all have something to drink. They’re in the middle of a conversation when Laura suddenly perks up and turns to her parents.  
  


“Oh my God, we haven’t given him the thing yet. Can I please go get it?”  
  


“Thing?” I frown and look at Derek, who’s sitting beside me on the couch.  
  


He chuckles. “It’s kind of a family tradition. Just a gift.”  
  


His sisters gasp and Lena tuts mockingly at Derek. “Not _just_ a gift. It’s _the_ gift. The welcome-to-the-Hale-pack gift.”  
  


Her husband, Mitch, nods in agreement. “It’s true. All the serious boyfriends get one.”  
  


“Oh.” I smile, cursing my cheeks as they begin to blush. Derek knocks our shoulders together and squeezes my hand. I meet his eyes, smiling wider.  
  


Laura returns to the room and presents him with a wrapped square box. I frown at it in confusion, not having expected something so big.  
  


“What’s in it?”  
  


Cora smacks her palm to her face. “It’s a gift, Stiles. You find out when you open it.”  
  


I stick my tongue out at her and unwrap the box with badly concealed curiosity. I lift the lid off the box and find a folded-up sweater, the words ‘Hale #5’ printed on the back. I hold it up in front of me, laughing. “Oh my God, this is perfect.”  
  


I turn it around so I can look at the front of the sweater. The chest is adorned with a small print of a triskele, right over where my heart will be when I wear it.  
  


“What does it mean?” I ask, trailing my fingers over the design.  
  


“Wish it, dream it, do it,” George says, sharing a look with Talia.  
  


“Live, love, and laugh,” Lena offers.  
  


“Sex, drugs, and rock-n'-roll,” Ivy woops, high-fiving her husband laughing husband.  
  


“Past, present, and future,” Derek says softly, and it’s so perfect that I can’t help but kiss him for it.  
  


“I love it.”  
  


Cora stands up and claps her hands together. “Okay, picture-time!”  
  


The whole family gets up, moving some furniture around so they can all fit in what will apparently be a family photo. I step forward when Cora returns with the camera.  
  


“You want me to take it?”  
  


They all exchange looks. “Are you always this dense?” she asks.  
  


I frown. “No? I just figured if I take the picture, you’ll all be in it. That’s the point of a family photo, right?”  
  


One of Derek’s other sisters sighs. “Oh my God, how does he still not get it?”  
  


Derek tugs on my hand until I’m standing right beside him. “That’s sweet, but you can’t.”  
  


“Okay?”  
  


“It’s like you said. Family needs to be in the picture.”  
  


“Oh.” _Oh._ I feel a lump forming in my throat and subtly try to clear it. “That’s, yeah, okay.”  
  


Cora laughs and waves a tripod at me that I hadn’t seen before. She sets the camera up and programs a timer, then quickly joins them and poses for the picture.  
  


“Say cheese!”  
  


I find myself looking at Derek and when I see that he’s already looking at me, there’s no need to say cheese at all. I couldn’t smile harder if I tried.

 

#

 

Much later, after we’ve had dinner and the rest of the family is in a food coma, Derek and I retreat to his childhood bedroom. I take a few minutes to look around, cataloguing all the knick-knacks and posters on the wall that make the room so typically _Derek_.  
  


Derek is sitting on his bed with his back against the headboard, just watching me with a soft smile. When I’m done with my inspection, he holds out his hand and beckons me over to him. I go willingly and sit down next to him, scooting closer until our sides are touching and I can lean into him.  
  


He looks at me, eyes sparkling, and I raise an eyebrow. “What?”  
  


“Let’s watch some porn,” he says, a mischievous grin on his face, letting me know that he knows exactly what he just did. I used to hate that sentence for a long time, but –  
  


I shake my head with a soft laugh and lean in for a kiss. “Grab your laptop.”  
  


I was wrong. Those words never ruined our relationship. They’re what got it all started. And now, sitting here with the man of my dreams, I can honestly say that I don’t regret them anymore.  How could I, when they brought me _him_?

 

 

 

**_The End._ **

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for all the support and for being so patient with me! AGAIN all the credit to Sarina Bowen and Elle Kennedy and their wonderful book Him from which I borrowed most of the plot. Check out their book and the rest of the series (because YES THERE IS A SERIES NOW) and also the adorable and hilarious spin-off if you turn out to be as addicted to those characters as I am. I’m going to stop rambling now, love you all and I hope to see you at my next fic ^-^


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